


Third Time Is Not The Charm

by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Derek Hale Needs To Use His Words, Derek Hale Needs a Hug, Derek is trying, Emissary Alan Deaton, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Everybody Really - Freeform, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Graphic Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Idiots in Love, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oblivious Derek Hale, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dynamics, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Prince Derek Hale, Recovery, Rutting, Scent Marking, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Threats of Violence, Trauma, We Gonna Go On A Ride, mentions of trauma, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 59,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21818023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle/pseuds/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle
Summary: Stiles was a simple boy from a simple town. His father was a lawman, and they made better money than most. But they needed more. And as it turned out, the royal family was in need of hands. Stiles expected to be worked half to death, with hardly an ounce of rest. What he got was a foul tempered alpha with trust issues, and a family that spoke in riddles rather than their actual feelings. At least the pay was good.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 177
Kudos: 1195
Collections: Sterek Goodness, Sterek to read during social distancing





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've written a royalty AU before. It received mixed reviews. Here's hoping this one is better.

Stiles had been sitting by the fire for at least an hour. A small satchel had been packed days in advance. Ready to go at a moment’s notice. Not that there was any particular reason. He had known this day was coming. The day where he would leave his home. Traveling towards the royal capital. Working in the palace in an effort to support his family. Well, what was left of it anyway.

It had been seven years since his mother died. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t miss her. The pang of her loss resounded in even the smallest everyday things. Cooking breakfast. Hanging the laundry out. So on and so forth. All of them felt empty without her. Her smile. Her laughter. All of it. Stiles felt his chest seize, and he knew that thinking about it wouldn’t help anything.

His father hadn’t supported his decision. Not by a longshot. The capital was hundreds of miles away. Far from where he could reach him. That wasn’t the only issue. The main one being that the royal family consisted of werewolves. Of which there were plenty of rumors. None of them good.

Stiles had grown up in relative peace. The day to day life nothing more than what the average citizen would experience. He had never known war. Never known an empty belly. Their lives were simple. Peaceful, but simple. But as all things did, that wasn’t to last.

He didn’t know all of the details. Only that there was conflict. And with conflict, came leanness. There were shortages of everything. People were experiencing, truly experiencing hunger for the first time. Taxes were raised. Men were called off to fight. Those who could anyway. Stiles escaped that fate by being a commoner.

Generally speaking, the only men that were called to fight were the ones that had any form of training. Sometimes, they left of their own volition. Choosing to be knights and be trained under the tutelage of an accomplished solider. Some were self-taught. Stiles was the son of a lawman and a seamstress. He had training in neither. He would’ve been absolutely dreadful on the battlefield.

That being said, he was good with his hands. The general tasks of day to day life came easily to him. Many of the people in their town often asked him to handle small repairs and mending. He knew why. Magic. Nothing grand or purposeful. But powers that helped him do things easily. He got it from his mother. Both their fingers held it.

Whatever she sewed, whatever she crafted, was wonderful. Even the cheapest, poorest cloths could be turned grand. Cloaks that never failed to keep one warm. Dresses that never seemed to stain. It was their little secret. Magic was prized and valuable. And the royal family was known to desire them. Stiles’ magic was his. And his alone.

People distrusted what they didn’t understand. They feared it. So Stiles kept his magic to himself. That was his biggest secret. One he intended to take to his grave. The only people that knew were his father, Scott, and Lydia. The latter two discovered by accident. But were no less his friends in the matter.

Even with his skills in being able to repair and mend things, times were becoming leaner and leaner. They needed more money. They needed a way to sustain themselves. With his father being a lawman, they were better off than most. Not by much. Their meager excess had already run dry. And there was little else left that they could do. So, Stiles made the choice.

By chance, a group of knights had been travelling through town, and had asked amongst the town if anyone was willing to accompany them to the palace. They were looking for workers of all kinds. Stiles agreed without a moment’s hesitation. Even if he had no love for the royal family, they paid well. They paid well, and he’d always have something to eat. A place to sleep.

When the horses arrive, he can hear them. Feel their hoof beats in the ground. Their baying sends a shiver down his spine. He’d never been very fond of the beasts, and he wasn’t that great at riding either. The knights didn’t care. He had agreed, and he was leaving. His father hugs him fiercely as he steps out of the door. He didn’t support the decision, but he understood why.

Scott and Lydia were there as well. The both of them have tears in their eyes. Stiles blinks away his own. Steels himself, and hugs his two friends. This wasn’t a goodbye. Only a temporary parting. He can feel his magic sing. It was a sad song.

The knights hoist him up onto a young stallion. Much to his surprise, the beast does not try and buck him. And allows him on its back without an issue. One of the knights raises and inquisitive brow, but makes no further comment. Stiles looks back as they leave town. As he leaves behind everything he’s ever known. And moves forward to a life that holds anything and everything in store.

It was a three day ride to the capital. Stiles fared better than he had expected. The beast rides wonderfully, and actually seems to like him. The knights don’t really pay him any mind. They feed him well, and makes sure that he’s comfortable when it’s time to sleep. That’s all Stiles could’ve really asked for.

At the end of the trip, Stiles is tired and sore. More so than he had ever been working in town. Apparently, according to the knights, riding for days on end took getting used to. The inexperienced often were wracked with pains. Thankfully, his magic took care of the worst of his pains. As it always did.

The entry into the capital was rather…astonishing. Back in town, they had a simple high wooden wall. Thick and sturdy. A common bandit wouldn’t be able to get through no matter how hard they tried. Here…the walls were made of towering stone. As Stiles got closer, he felt his magic thrum with familiarity. These walls were spelled. And they were spelled heavily.

The guards at the gate don’t really pay him any attention. The knights give them a short report as to why they’re here, and all was well. The inside of the walls were marvelous. Busier than he imagined. Even with all the people living there. The sheer noise of it overwhelmed him. His magic danced at all the new people.

The knights didn’t stop anywhere. Didn’t delay. And didn’t have to tell Stiles to keep up. There would be time for sightseeing at a later date. At least, he hoped there would be. There was no telling all what entailed for him once he actually arrived at the palace. When he does arrive, there was a tense moment where his heart picked up. Racing in his chest. He was entering the lion’s den. Or rather, the wolf’s.

The palace is a grand, towering structure. Sheer white stone that seemed to gleam in the early afternoon sun. Stiles wondered how many it took to craft such a thing. How long it took and how many people. How many years, how many decades. The effort. The labor. The sweat. His magic let him mend things. But nothing a stupendous as this.

The entry into the palace is heavily guarded. The wolves that greet them eye him with a pointed suspicion. He could always tell if someone wasn’t quite human. His magic was funny like that. There was a buzzing to them. They weren’t a threat, but he was no less comfortable for the matter.

Once inside, the knights direct him to a small room where roughly a dozen others are already waiting. Most of them are men, with one or two women of varying ages. Servants descended upon them, directing them in all manner of directions. Stiles found himself taken down the hall, stripped of all his clothes. And thrown into a tub of cold water.

He shrieks as the servants throw more water over his head. Scrubbing him with a thick, lathery soap. They were bathing him. Which in of itself was embarrassing enough. He was eighteen and more than capable of doing such a task on his own. He was more embarrassed that the servants were all women.

When the scrubbing is down, they haul him out of the tub, wiping him down until dry. After which, he’s slathered in some manner of scented oil. It’s light and fragrant and makes him a little dizzy. They dress him in simple trousers and a tunic. The material is only slightly better than what he had arrived in. It’s softer, but he can tell cheap fabric when he sees it.

He doesn’t know what all the fuss was about. He had bathed before he left. And by no means was a dirty person. Even still, the servants had seen to it that he was fresh faced and dressed for whatever awaited him. Which, as it turned out, was a crash course in etiquette.

A stern looking man with a pinched face came in after he had been scrubbed. Quickly giving him a rundown of how to behave. How to address the royal family. To keep his eyes on the floor. To not speak unless spoken to. So on and so forth. As well as what consequences awaited him should he fall short of those instructions.

The group was gathered back together. And then shuffled off, further into the palace. A small number of guards accompanying them. They were all wolves, and Stiles could tell that, somewhere in the palace, there was someone like him. Someone with magic. He felt his own sing softly. Curiously wondering what they were like. The only other magic user he’d ever met was his mother.

The throne room is just as embellished as the rest of the palace. Fine cloths such as silk adorn the walls. The floors are spotless and meticulously shined. The sheer force of it all makes his head spin. Even if it’s just a little. Back in town, their lives were simple. Their homes were simple. The only real embellishments they had came from fine cotton grown in the south. Even still, there were only a handful of people who could even afford it.

The guards halt them a short distance from the throne. Stiles doesn’t have to be a genius to know why. They all kneel wordlessly. But against the advice of what he had been told, he dares to look at the people before him. They are shockingly ordinary. From all the stories, he had expected…well…more.

The queen sits, of course, on the throne. Eyes kind and pensive. Dark hair falls in waves across her shoulders. Her skin was kissed by the sun. The two women to her left and right were the same. Albeit different in the same moment.

The one to the left, the older one, was softer. Round features and supple lips. She looked like a princess. The one to the right was fiercer. Eyes like a hawk, observing without missing a single moment. Stiles knew right away that angering her, offending her, would bring nothing good.

It was the man, however, that really unnerved him. While the others were dark hair and sun bronzed skin, he was blonde with fair skin, and sky blue eyes. Any other person would’ve found him beautiful. Stiles knew better. There was a predatory gleam in the man’s eyes. Something that looked hungry and dangerous. It was upon seeing them that he finally looked towards the floor.

The guards that brought them in introduce them. And the queen stands. Descending from the throne to stand a few feet from them. One by one, she asks them about themselves. What their names were. Where they were from. What they specialized in. it was all relatively mundane.

Most of the men were either farmers or craftsmen. Accustomed to strong, arduous labor. And had plenty of experience. The queen was satisfied. Particularly with the man that was a stone mason. There was even a stablemen. He was a built, worn man. Stiles imagined working with horses to be strenuous work.

The women were of their expected professions. One was a milk maid who knew how to make butter. Another was an accomplished seamstress and weaver. The other was trained as a maid. Having worked in a lord’s manor before his passing. One by one, they were lead away to whatever positions they would now lead. Stiles was the last one. When the queen looks at him, he can feel his heart race. She is much more imposing when close up.

“And what might your name be, little one?” The queen’s eyes shimmer as she speaks. Like moonlight on the trunk of a tree.

“Stiles, Your Majesty. At least, that’s what I go by. My mother gave me a name in the old tongue, and it’s quite unpronounceable.”

“Names are a gift from our ancestors. We must cherish them. Tell me Stiles, what is it that you do?” Her voice is tender. Like a breeze moving over a calm lake in the summer.

“I can mend things. I’ve always been good that. From woodwork to cloth. But I have no specialty. Better to be a jack of all trades than master of one, as they say.”

The queen smiles. It is a warm thing. It reminds him of his mother. How bright she was. How full of life. There was a small pang in his chest. A momentary glint of sadness. Something that occasionally reared its ugly little head. He hoped that the royal family didn’t notice.

“Well, we have all the craftsmen we need. For the moment. I would give you over to a master, but the ones employed in the palace already have apprentices.”

“Dearest sister, he’s an able bodied man. Give him to Laura or Cora. They’re in need of an attendant.” The man’s voice is velvety smooth and laced with sin.

“Forgive me, Majesty. But would that not be…improper?” Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Oh relax, dear boy. We’re asking you to do their heavy lifting. Not be taken to bed as their lover. Though, they are both unmated. So, you could be of use for that as well. As long as you had the stamina.”

“Peter, enough.” The queen wasn’t angry, but she certainly was irritated. Stiles got the feeling that her brother often said things that he shouldn’t have.

Both of the princesses looked irate at their uncle’s comments. Stiles’ magic told him as well. It appears the queen wasn’t the only one that had issue with Peter’s unfortunate disposition. He wondered if the man spoke of this during diplomatic affairs. And if so, how often he got into trouble.

“I apologize for my brother. Who seems to forget the conduct expected of a royal. I’m sure we can find something for you, little one.”

“If their Highnesses would have me, I would be happy to fulfill any role they asked of me. Except for the…lover. I don’t think my father would be quite pleased to hear about that.”

“An old fashioned man, is he?” Peter was smirking now.

“More along the lines of my own sense of propriety and knowing better, my Lord. I make no judgements, but would rather not. If can be avoided.”

Peter actually laughs now. Really, truly laughs. Stiles can feel his mirth even with the distance between them. The man was amused. For one reason or another. He didn’t know why. He didn’t care to know. His sense of humor wasn’t something that Stiles was interested in getting to know.

“He’s thin and he smells funny. Give him to Derek, if you must.” The younger one, Cora, didn’t even bother to look at Stiles as she spoke. What he did see, what that everyone else in the room, had gone silent.

The queen, Laura, Peter, the guards, the servants. All of them. It was as if their tongues had been cursed into stone. There was a palpable tension between Cora and the queen. The latter was furious beyond measure. She had been irate at Peter, she was now enraged with her daughter. For the briefest moment, Stiles saw her eyes turn red.

He’d never met a werewolf before coming to the capital. He’d seen them in passing as they made their way through town. But he never bothered them. Never disturbed them. Never gave them any mind. Like any other person, he’d heard the stories. He’d heard the rumors. He’d heard the tales.

They were uncontrollable. They were beasts. They were monsters. Horror stories that were told in the dark over a dying fire. Stiles had heard them all. He never really believed them. People told stories about those who had magic. That they made deals with demons. That they ate the bones of children. And other such ridiculous things.

“Forgive my daughter, and her thoughtless addition.”

“If Your Majesty requires me to attend to His Highness, than that is perfectly fine.” Stiles wasn’t exactly sure why everyone was so on edge. But he was here, and he was determined to get a job and keep it.

“Derek is…My son can be rather irate. And has scared off several servants. By no real fault of his own. He can be…difficult.” The queen’s face was pinched in a way that let Stiles know. She was hurting. He didn’t know why.

“Truth be told, he was asked to be here today. To see if there was someone that he liked. But my son has found his quarters to be more comfortable than anywhere else. And we’ve been having a hard time…Well…With a lot of things.”

Stiles didn’t need to ask. He could hear the grief in her voice. Could feel his magic weep with it. He didn’t say anything else. He simply kept his head bowed and waited for the queen to make a decision. She talked in hushed tones with her daughters. Stiles could have easily used his magic to overhear them. But that was considered rude. Not only that, but he wanted to avoid detection of having magic in the first place.

One of the servants brings him a small loaf of bread and some milk. He hadn’t even noticed that he was hungry. The woman walked away before he could thank her. Silently departing with her eyes to the floor. She was afraid. He didn’t know why. But it wasn’t any use in dwelling on it. The queen had made her decision as he finished the last of the bread.

“We will try and see if you can get along with my son. But do be cautioned, he can be….excessively blunt.” Stiles simply swigged down the last of his milk. Ready and willing to do anything the queen asked of him. In any case, being the personal attendant to a royal certainly had to pay well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, with some humor sprinkles in for good measure. Have fun

After the queen had made her decision, Stiles was, once again, led away. The servants that ushered him into the next room were calm and far less frantic than the ones when he had arrived. Maybe working directly with royals made them a tad more collected. He didn’t know. It was his first time in the capital.

Thankfully, there was no bath with cold water this time. But there was an excessive amount of grooming. His hair was cut, and primped. What little facial hair he did have was removed with a razor. He hated that part. The salve they put on his face was greasy and funny smelling. After that, his nails were clipped and cleaned. Hands and face scrubbed till they damn near shined.

Towards the end of it, he had a change of clothing. What the first servants had given him was far better than most of what he had ever owned. Apart the garments made by his mother. Apparently, servants that were in direct employment to the royal family also had to look the part. The fabrics were much softer, but did not breathe as well. Stiles felt himself getting warm as they added on the layers.

When the other servants were done dressing him, they gave him a once over. Making sure that every possible detail was in place. And that he was in impeccable shape to meet the prince. He felt that he was. By all that was sane and good, he’d been primed, primped, buffed, and everything else in-between. Only, that wasn’t the end of it. Not entirely anyway.

Peter Hale walked in, unattended, that horrendous smile splashed across his face. The servants in the room scattered away. Taking their leave without ever being told to. Leaving Stiles alone with the man. Even though the act of which made him uncomfortable, he knew that he was not in any danger. His magic had always been good at telling him if someone was a threat.

For the most part, he knew next to nothing about Peter Hale. Like the other members of the royal family, he was a werewolf. From a long line of werewolves. Stretching back centuries. The Hales had ruled their country for an immeasurable amount of time. For the most part, it had been a warless, peaceful rule. But rumors flew like the plague.

As always, there were plenty of horror stories. About the monstrousness of werewolves. About their snarling fangs dripping with blood. Eyes that were colors not of this world. How they moved like shadows over grass. Silent and without mercy. In regards to their own person, Stiles had only hear what was drunkenly spattered out in the town tavern.

Peter Hale was the second child of the previous king and queen. The younger to Talia Hale, who had inherited the throne. There was, according to some, a lingering bitterness to that. But the man had made no move or plan to usurp his sister. And had served the realm rather well for nearly two decades. The other stories is where his character was called into question.

In that he was a whoremonger. (That was the word that had been passed around.) Bedding both noble and commoner alike. Shockingly, he had only one child from such liaisons. A daughter who was just as uncouth as her father could be. Beyond such tales of scandal, Stiles had heard nothing else of the man. And yet, he was standing right in front of him. Smiling like a viper.

“Hello again. I thought I might drop by and share a cup of tea with you.” Stiles didn’t say anything.

Peter moved towards the table, and for some reason, prepared the tea himself. Rather than ordering Stiles to do so. He hadn’t expected to be served tea by a royal. But here he was, being instructed to sit. And being handed a cup of something that smelled like spring. He forwent the sugar. He’d never had a taste for it.

“Tell me Stiles, how are you finding the capital?”

“Excessive, but enjoyable.” There was no sense in lying. As the rumors went, werewolves could, quite literally, hear them.

“Ha! I don’t think I’ve ever met a human as honest as you. Most of them try too hard to cater to us, given our stations.” Peter sipped his tea. That smile never left his face.

“I’m glad you find me appealing. I suppose the question is, will His Highness?”

For the smallest, briefest of moments, Peter’s smile faltered. The barest corner of his lip quivered, cracking at the edges. There was a small flare. Something close to anger. Stiles’ magic hissed. Spitting like a cornered cat. He wasn’t in any danger. But the man in front of him was certainly unnerved.

“Derek is….complicated. For a great deal many of reasons. He had refused all servants we’ve tried to assign to him. All of them ran off in fear. Dealing with an alpha werewolf can be strenuous. To say the least.”

“Fear is the consciousness of what we cannot control. That’s just a basic instinct, for humans and werewolves.” Stiles took a sip of his tea, much as Peter had. It was still rather hot. The man in front of him was still smiling.

“Speaking of fear, you’re quite something yourself. Completely unafraid of speaking to the entirety of the royal family. Not even a hint of anxiety off of you. Remarkable. But, there is something about you. The way that Cora said you smelled.”

“She said that I was thin and smelled funny.” Stiles didn’t take offense to it. He had no reason to.

“Forgive my niece. But she did mean something by it. More accurately, you smell like a threat.” Peter’s smile seemed to grow even wider.

For the first time since he had arrived in the capital, Stiles felt an icy rush down his spine. He felt fear. He hadn’t often felt it. Given that his life so far had no provided a reason beyond the mundane. But he was here, in a room with a royal, and a werewolf, he said that he smelled like a threat.

There was only one real reason that he could think of as to why this man viewed him as such. His magic. His magic was a part of him, and other than that, he was no different than any other human. But he knew that he was. And according to Cora and Peter Hale, they could literally smell it. Which was a problem.

“I fail to see how I can, in any way be a threat to you, my Lord. Even if you weren’t a werewolf, you could very easily kill me. I don’t have any training with a sword or a bow.”

“You’d be surprised, Stiles. A person’s scent tell plenty about them. And I must admit, I felt some degree of…tension. There’s an air about you. Something that makes my wolf want to bare its fangs and snarl.” Peter was still smiling. Even as he continued to sip his tea.

“Forgive me, My Lord. But I have no intention of brining harm to you or anyone here. As I know my head would be sent rolling, along with my father’s.”

“As long as we understand each other on the matter. Now, moving forward….”

Peter delicately placed his teacup down, standing in that graceful way that only seemed possible for werewolves. His steps are smooth and even. When he stands in front of Stiles, the latter does not move. He does not blink. He does not breathe. Even when the man places his face into the corner of his shoulder. The embrace his brief, lasting only seconds. But it still disturbs Stiles regardless.

“Apologies, but Derek will respond better to you if you, in some way, smell like one of us. As I said, scent tells a lot. And he will be much less perturbed if you are, on some level, familiar with us already.”

Stiles simply nodded his head. Unwanting and uncaring to make a comment. He had met this type before. Peter Hale knew who he was. How strong he was. How clever he was. And the clever types always liked to play games. Like a cat toying with a mouse. Stiles knew better than to ever feel completely comfortable around him. Let alone to trust him.

There was no more grooming, but a short lesson on how to interact with the prince he was about to serve. The circumstances of his isolation were left undisclosed, as Peter had deemed them irrelevant. He was instead educated on how to properly address and speak to an alpha. Who also so happened to be a prince. It was all rather straightforward.

Peter left him with instructions from the queen. In which to request Derek join them for lunch later this afternoon. After which, the man excused himself. Letting the servants reenter the room. After which they directed Stiles towards the prince’s chambers. There was no turning back now. Hopefully, against all otherwise malevolent forces, Derek would be nothing like his uncle.

***

Derek held a book in his hand. Spine tattered and worn. He had read this particular piece many times. Ever since he had learned to read, it had remained one of his favorites. But on this particular day, he found himself wholly unable to enjoy it. Today, more commoners would be brought into the palace. They were running short in servants.

Tensions to the west had caused the dispatch of many present nobles, along with the servants that tended to accompany them. There was also the matter of Derek’s own unfortunate, and somewhat foul disposition. His mother had asked him to attend for the latest batch. Hoping that there would be someone to his liking. He didn’t bother as he already knew the answer.

He had no real need of servants. None of them did. They were not helpless babes, nor crippled elders. Every last member of the royal family was capable of tending to themselves. They just stood on tradition. More than anything else. Derek did practically everything for himself.

He chopped his own firewood. Ran and hated his own baths. Dressed himself. The only exception was that a lone servant would bring him his meals. And that was only because they left them outside his door, and then promptly left without saying a word to him. All in all, that seemed to work out pretty well for him.

The only times he left his room was to check on his men. Being a general was no small task, and he had to make sure that they kept with their training. And he received regular reports from his lieutenants. That, and seeing his betas was the only reasons he left this side of the palace. He didn’t even go outside on the full moon anymore.

His wolf had been growling at him for months now. He was a born wolf of the Hale line. From the time he was a pup, he had been taught everything there was to know about being a wolf. Even before his first shift. And every full moon after. His control was infallible. That was before Kate. Ever since, he had been teetering the line quite heavily.

No one in his family blamed him. None of his men blamed him. No one. But the truth was, people were dead because his foolishness. Because his lack of focus. There was no changing that. Kate and her father had planned a coupe with one of their enemies. It may have been short lived, and easily quashed. But people still lost their lives. And he couldn’t bring them back.

Even worse, he was now an alpha. He had been the one to kill Deucalion. In that battle blind rage, he speared the man to the wall with a single thrust of his longsword. It in of itself, wasn’t a bad thing. The man was trying to take over the country. He was going to be executed anyway. But being an alpha put him in conflict with his sister. And he had enough of that.

He was a general, not a king. He had no desire to be a king. Not now. Not ever. He’d gladly hand the throne over to Cora if it came to it. He just wanted peace. He wanted quiet. He wanted the company of himself and no one else. Unfortunately, that was not what the day had planned. As there were three sharp knocks at his door. Disturbing his train of thought.

“Enter.” He might as well have gotten it over with. Most of the servants lasted a week on average. Some, less than that. Derek didn’t do anything outright cruel or malicious. But he certainly wasn’t a pleasant person to deal with.

The person that enters….Is different than the others. Most of them had been women his mother’s age. A few were men. This one….He barely seemed little more than a boy. Youthful features, and a lithe build. From all outward appearances, he seemed to be no more than sixteen. But that’s not what caught Derek’s attention. What did, was his scent.

The first thing that he smelled, was Peter. The man had no doubt been scent marked by his uncle. In some futile effort to make him seem more appealing to Derek’s wolf. He wasn’t. Because underneath his uncle’s musk, he found something else. An electric spice that reminded him of autumn. Something old and familiar in the same moment. There was something else. Something…..darker. Something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He smelled like a threat.

“Good morning, Your Highness. I’m to be your new servant.” The young man bows respectfully, keeping his eyes on the floor. No doubt having been told to do exactly that. It doesn’t appease Derek. He wants him gone.

“I have no need for a servant, get out.” He usually doesn’t move right into dismissing them. But he feels his hackles raise the longer the young man stays in the room.

Despite being order to leave, he does not budge. He simply stands upright. Unflinching, as if waiting for some other order. There was no trace of fear in him. No pungent stench. No elevated heart rate. He was sweating, but that was from the layers of clothing he had been forced into wearing.

“Are you deaf?” Derek raised his voice this time.

“No sir, I have full range of hearing.”

“Then are you stunted? Because I told you to leave.” He wasn’t truly trying to be mean, but he did not want this man in his room.

“Her Majesty has requested that I bring you to lunch this afternoon.” He had ignored Derek’s question entirely. He wasn’t used to being ignored.

Derek can feel a growl building in his chest. His wolf didn’t like being ignored. It felt like a challenge. Like this human wasn’t respecting him. Which was a ridiculous notion. For which Derek silenced his wolf. He wasn’t going to lose his composure over a single human. One who was now rifling through his wardrobe. Pulling out clothes and setting them on the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“As I said, Highness. Her Majesty wishes you to attend lunch. Which, given your status as a royal, is something formal. I figured you’d want to change clothes.” The guy was absolutely, one hundred percent serious.

“Kindly inform my mother that I won’t be attending. After that, retire to the servant’s quarters. I have no further need of you.”

The young man continued to ignore Derek entirely. Rifling through more and more clothes. Moving on towards shoes and belts. To Derek’s horror, he was picking all the hideous dress clothes his mother had picked out for him. Colors that were bordering on pastels, and far too bright for his liking. He was a black, grey, and brown man. Through and through.

“I gave you an order.”

“Yes you did, Highness. But unfortunately, Her Majesty gave me one first. And as she is the queen, she outranks you.” The young man did not flinch as he spoke. In fact, Derek thought he would’ve liked to smile at his own words.

“I can make you leave if you wish to be so impudent.” Derek almost let his eyes turn red. Almost.

“With all due respect Your Highness, if you were going to remove me by force, you would have already done so.”

Derek hated this guy. Truly and fully hated him. Because he was right. Had he been so inclined, Derek would have latched the young man by his wrist, and dragged him out of the room. But he was not a violent, nor cruel man. Foul tempered, and ill dispositioned, yes. But he had no interest in manhandling servants just because he could get away with it.

“What’s your name?”

“Stiles, at your service.” The young man did smile now. It reminded him of Peter somewhat. In that shit eating grin kind of way.

He found himself at an impasse. Not wanting to leave his room, but unable to scare this servant away. Part of Derek wanted to flash his eyes. To show that he meant business. But the other part knew that was crossing the line into brutality. Instead, seeing no other option to be rid of him, Derek snatched a tunic from off the bed. Ready to dress himself. They should have wine at the feasting hall. He’d be drinking a barrel of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was delightful to write. What a first meeting. Next chapter, Stiles learns that Derek has layers. Whether they're all good remains to be seen. And as a reminder, I update the story when and where I can. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, fluff, and a tiny dash of humor.

Derek Hale was everything that his family had described. Irate, blunt, and ill tempered. Stiles had met many men like him. None of royalty. Nor any station near that. But it made little difference. It was rather clear from that get go that the prince had little desire to be bothered. Regardless, the queen had assigned him as the man’s servant, and he was going to fulfill that role to the best of his abilities. Even if meant being a little bit of an ass.

The oldest trick in the book. Ignore and persist. Ignore and persist. Keep at it, until the end result is reached. Stiles was many things. To say the least, stubborn was among them. Derek Hale was hardly the most obstinate of obstacles he’d ever encountered. There were plenty of sheep and rams in town with three times the ill-tempered disposition.

He knew that he was going to win, and he had every intention of doing so. The queen had entrusted him to her son as his personal servant. He had been plucked, primed, puffed, shaved, and shoved into all manner of clothes. Given a litany of instructions. And had to endure a cup of tea with one Peter Hale. A begrudged werewolf was hardly anything close to a challenge. 

Stiles smiled as Derek ruffled through the clothes he had selected. The man seemed droll and a little self-loathing. At the very least, he could understand some of those feelings. He didn’t know all of what entailed in the design of the man in front of him. Only, like most others, such things came from loss and grief. In one form or another.

Derek tried his damndest to ensure that his entire ensemble is the most drab, unfortunate colors. Utterly and completely boring. Stiles decides otherwise. Plenty of reds and golds. The man was a royal. And if he was stuck serving him, he was going to look the part. The making of which no doubt further sullied Derek’s already downtrodden temper. Stiles smiled and reminded him of the time.

It wasn’t as tedious a process as Stiles had envisioned. The idea that another human being past being a child needed help dressing…Even with how complicated and elaborate royal wear was…It seemed absurd to a rather extensive degree. But Derek never asked for his help. Never turned towards him with an upturned brow. He simply stripped with absolutely no grace, and put on the clothes that Stiles had selected.

The entire time the man radiated unrelenting irritation. Stiles took a certain satisfaction in that. The sullen prince didn’t bother trying to delay. And went through the process with a certain brand of aggression. But made no further attempts to drive Stiles from the room. It was almost comical to watch.

“You look dashing, Your Highness.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. I don’t plan on staying long. So don’t be too pleased with yourself.” Derek walked ahead of him. Almost sprinting out through the door.

As they walked, all the servants in the hall paused. Not stopped, but they certainly seemed surprised. Stiles could tell by how feverishly they looked at Derek. It was a brief, tense kind of thing. And then, they were gone as quickly as they had paused. Moving along. Bowing their heads, and saying nothing. To his credit, the prince paid them absolutely no mind whatsoever.

Stiles felt his legs start to tire ever so slightly. Not only was the palace expansive, Derek walked at a brisk pace. He’d worked with his hands all his life. Not so much with his legs. Even if the prince had been human, stiles would have had a hard time keeping up.

When they reach the dining hall, (at last), Stiles feels like he’s out of breath. Derek is fresh faced and bright eyed. Literally. His eyes were red. He’d never met an alpha werewolf before. And even he had, he only would have known that they were a werewolf. Stiles had wanted to ask Peter more about what Derek was like. It didn’t seem like a good idea at the time.

The servants at the door seemed shocked at Derek’s presence. But opened the way for them regardless. Upon entering, everyone already present went stone still. Servants. Maids. Everyone. Including Derek’s own family. As if they hadn’t really expected Stiles to succeed in getting Derek to leave his chambers. The reaction he got was unanimous, and pleasing.

The queen was the first over. Openly hugging her son in front of god and company. As far as Stiles knew and heard of, royals did not openly express such affections. At least, not in the view of servants or someone outside of their own family. It was rather uncouth, or, so he had heard.

Laura is the next, followed by Peter, and then Cora. One by one, they all embrace Derek. In one form or another. The queen and Laura openly hug him. Holding tight as if he might vanish into thin air if they were to let go. Peter sort of just…stands beside him. Smiling as madly as a hatter. Cora punches him. Literally, punches him. But in a playful way. The kind of way that was only allowed between siblings.

It lasts for several minutes. Stiles stands to the side. Doing and saying nothing. This wasn’t his moment. Until it was. As when the greetings were done and over with, Princess Laura leapt, (literally), over towards him. Encasing him in a bone crushing hug that squeezed the air out of his lungs. If embracing her brother in this audience was inappropriate, then this was downright scandalous.

He just keeps perfectly still, enduring in silence, the embrace from the princess. Stiles can’t see, but he imagined that everyone present was rather shocked. He was a commoner being embraced by an actual princess. Who was, unmarried. Which, in terms of society, made things even more outrageous. Back in town, he shared casual intimacy with many of his friends. From the stories that he had heard, royals didn’t do that. And yet, here he was.

Laura eventually lets go of him. Only because the queen has to pull her off. Then, he’s being hugged by the queen. Which is even more inappropriate. He wonders if somewhere there’s someone plotting his death for having the audacity to be embraced by not one, but two royals. He can feel his heart leap into his chest. He wasn’t afraid, but he certainly wasn’t comfortable with the situation either. The queen, like Laura, eventually separates from him. Only, no one has to pull her off.

“Thank you, Stiles. I don’t know how you managed it, but thank you.” The queen blinks back tears.

“No problem, Your Majesty. He’s not so bad at all.” Derek huffs in derision. Obviously annoyed with Stiles.

“However did you manage it? We’ve tried everything.” Peter’s tone was condescending and playful. As well as irritating.

“I simply told him that the queen had ordered me to bring His Highness to lunch. And as queen, she outranked him, and that by that, I refused his order to leave.”

Peter lost himself in a fit of giggles. Unrestrained and uncaring of how he was conducting himself in front of present company. The queen looked rather confused. Laura as well. Cora was smiling ear to ear. Stiles suppressed his own.

“I extended an invitation, but I certainly didn’t mean it to be an order for you to carry out, Stiles.”

“Your Majesty, with respect, I am a commoner. It is an invitation to your son. For me, it is an order.”

In reality, Stiles hadn’t lied. At least, not from his perspective. He was, in fact, a commoner. And commoners were not given invitations. Even if they were, they had no right to refuse them. Especially not one from the queen. He had taken the word as a command, and tailored his actions thusly. Given that the prince was now in the dining hall, he considered that a raving success. Even if Derek was currently glaring daggers at him.

Peter is still beside himself when they all sit down. Stiles stands to Derek’s side. A respectful distance. But close enough to get something if the alpha had commanded it. Lunch was a much livelier affair than Stiles had imagined it to be. All the stories that he had heard said that werewolves were raucous, loud, and uncivilized. But these ones were ‘refined’. Acting human when they weren’t. Certainly, it felt a bit more like a tavern than a royal dining hall. But it was a haughty affair not a wild, unhinged one.

The queen is the one who talks the most. She discusses matters both personal and political. For the most part, Stiles tries to tune it out. Such things were beyond his station, and beyond his power to do anything about. He was a servant and a servant only. That being said, little tidbits did slip through. The rumors of tension in the west had been true. Trouble was brewing. And it was escalating.

They all eat and talk and eat and talk. Peter is the only one who drinks. Stiles didn’t know what an average werewolf’s tolerance for wine was. But the man’s seemed to be high. As he was already on his third tureen with no signs of intoxication. Though, that being said, Stiles did sense a certain mischievousness in him. He could feel his magic prickle at the back of his head. Something was defiantly strange about this man. And it had nothing to do with being a werewolf.

“So, Derek. Have your heard? One of the eastern emperor’s daughters is now being considered for marriage. Third in line I hear. Very enticing.” Peter smiled like the devil.

“No, I hadn’t. Nor do I care.” Derek shoved a forkful of veg in his mouth. His annoyance pointedly clear.

“Oh come now, you can’t sequester yourself in the palace forever. You’re the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom. There are woman just _waiting_ to fawn over you.”

“Enough, uncle.” Derek’s tone was dangerous. His eyes, even more so. He had stopped eating, and everyone in the room had quit breathing.

“I understand you hesitation, but as we’ve told you, time and time again. Not one person blames you for that vile wench and it’s high time you do your...”

Peter doesn’t get the chance to finish what he was saying. As Derek launched himself from his seat. Storming out of the dining room. Eyes a murderous red, and breathing heavily. The obvious was there. Derek was furious with Peter, and was leaving to keep from mangling his uncle. Stiles followed suit, making sure that the entirety of Peter’s wine spilled onto his lap. His magic was good for other things that just mending.

He tries his hardest to keep up with Derek, with minimal success. The man was a werewolf, as well as a solider. Far fitter than Stiles, and far quicker. Though, he isn’t heading back to his chambers. Instead, he throws himself outdoors. Taking off in a dead sprint towards the woods. Not bothering to keep what little restraint he had in the first place. There is an ear shattering roar as he enters the tree line.

Stiles pauses just at the tree line. Not wanting to follow. He had magic and things that had magic didn’t tend to fare well in forests. There were old things that lived in them. Older than men. Older than wolves. Older than most things. Gods. Demons. Fairies. Among others. All of them were drawn to those with magic in their veins. That’s what Stiles’ mother had told him. To always be wary where he walked in the trees. And to never enter them at night. Less he never return from them.

He feels sweat bead on the back of his neck. His face goes cold. And he can feel his heart drop into his stomach. Even when he went foraging, he never strayed far. And never stayed more than an hour. Truly, he was torn. Derek wasn’t going to listen to anyone, not in his current state. And certainly not Stiles. That being said, he understood anger. That it was never good to be alone. That Derek did, (even if he didn’t want to admit it), need someone. So, Stiles walks into the trees. Barely able to breathe as he does so.

The tress hum with joy as he walks amongst them. Even with how afraid he was in forests, the trees were always happy to see him whenever he was near them. He had no real reason to understand that. The trees weren’t what worried him. It’s what lived in them and in-between them. The ones that slithered between wire thin shadows. The ones that his mother had warned him about.

The trees get louder the deeper that he goes. Singing and dancing and swaying. As if to try and drown out Stiles’ fears. It is only mildly comforting. They sing and sing and sing. He doesn’t understand the words. Everything had its own language. He had no reason to speak tree. Or anything else that wasn’t his native tongue. At the very least, he can tell they are happy.

Stiles lets his magic guide him. As there were things that belonged in the forest, and things that did not belong in the forest. An angered, alpha werewolf prince was one of them. That, he could sense. Anger had a certain bitterness to it. The taste of it slathered along the back of his tongue. He wanted to gag. But he knew he was going in the right direction.

When he finds Derek, the wolf is sitting in a clearing. Atop bright green grass, eyes pointed towards the ground. Still as stone. Stiles is not fooled. Anger rolls off of him in fetid waves. Tainting the air around him. Sullying an otherwise pristine place. He was no less afraid. But no more either. The man does not move as Stiles approaches.

He stands a good six feet away from him. A good, respectful distance. One that he intends to keep. As uncouth as it was to think about, Derek was more of a wild animal than a man right now. Carelessly getting closer would have done neither of them any good. So, he waits.

The man just breathes. In and out. Great, heaving breaths that seemed to make the air thinner as time went on. Stiles felt his heart race. He disliked the forest. He disliked being here. He disliked everything about this current situation. But, he endured it. Because it was his job.

“You stink.” Derek’s words sound muffled and distorted. Almost as if it wasn’t his voice to begin with.

“I imagine I smell just fine, Your Highness. Given the amount of bathing and perfuming that I’ve endured since my arrival.” Stiles, as he always did, makes merry. He didn’t really know how to do anything else.

“I meant you stink of fear.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s fair. I’ve never liked the forest. Even the one back home. It…unsettles me.”

“And why’s that?” Derek turns to him. Eyes a soft, less murderous red. Mouth bulging full of fangs. Stiles was not afraid. At least, not because of him.

Wolves could hear a lie. And he was already suspect of being a threat by his scent alone. He had assumed it was because of his magic. Because of this wondrous, dangerous, powerful thing he had been born with. That instinctively raised the hackles of men and wolf alike. It was the reason he was afraid. The stories his mother had told him. Of why certain places were dangerous for those who had magic in their fingers.

“Down, down, down into the dark we go. Where old things sleep, and foul things grow.”

“A poet are you? Quite impressive for a servant.” Derek’s tone was not helpful.

“My mother always told me to be wary of the trees. They hide things older than men. And far more dangerous.”

“Such as werewolves, perhaps?” Derek’s inquisition was also a temptation. Something meant to make him fling ugly words and vile filth. Stiles wasn’t going to take it.

“You are little more than a perturbed child. Anger is a simple thing. An easy thing. Which is why I followed you. Because I have known it, and I have been consumed by it.”

Stiles hadn’t meant for his words to be as disrespectful as they had sounded. He was afraid and irritated, and greatly wanted to return to the palace. Wanted to be out of the woods, and away from the things that he could feel, but could not see. The things that hunted things like him in the night. That hunted anything really.

“Do not pretend to know anything of what I feel, servant.” His voice was vicious and laced with venom.

“I pretend nothing, prince. I only say that I experienced something along the lines of the rage you feel. As have most in their lives. You are not special in that regard.” Again, Stiles wasn’t trying to be disrespectful.

Derek stands himself upright, marching towards the other man. Great, heavy footfalls that seem to almost shake the forest floor as each passed over the other. Stiles does not move. He does not speak. The alpha stops with barely any space between them. It still feels like a great heaving divide, even though Derek could take only another step, and knock him over.

“Your impudence has a limit. I suggest you respect it.” Derek’s breath felt hot against his face.

“And why should I? I’ve done nothing but my best in the last few hours to serve you with the utmost effort I can. Endured primping, priming, and lord knows what else. Your uncle, and the eyes of every other servant in the palace we’ve walked past. Last of all, followed you into the place I hate the most not only because it was right thing to do, but because I was genuinely concerned for you.”

Stiles wasn’t lying. He had only known Derek Hale for a sparse number of hours. The man was irate, and somewhat unlikable. But that did not mean Stiles actually had any real reason to dislike him. They didn’t know enough about each other for that. Even if they couldn’t exactly get along, they could at least be cordial with one another. Stiles was willing to swallow his usual sarcasm and otherwise unfortunate dispositions.

“Why would you have any reason to care about my wellbeing?”

“Because, Highness, where I am from, we take care of each other. That’s how I was raised. I cannot speak for others, but I will not dishonor my parents by being an apathetic fool.”

Derek’s eyes fade to their human color. A green much like the forest around them. Bright, with little flecks of gold around the edges. It was a soft color. A younger color. A color not burdened by the weight of anguish or heartbreak. They don’t say anything else. The alpha simply begins stomping his way back towards the palace. Stiles follows suit. A small smile stretched across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun. Next chapter, Stiles meets the pack. It goes as well as one could expect. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE UPDATE! MERRY CHRISTMAS YA'LL! I love character development, and awkward introductions.

Derek was rather astounded with the young man his mother had assigned in the latest line of servants. Truly, he was a thing of mystery, and mild amusement. Namely, the servant, Stiles, had absolutely no fear of him whatsoever. Even if Derek hadn’t been an alpha werewolf, his status as a prince was enough to intimidate most. Stiles, as it happened, was completely unafraid of him.

Derek had been born a wolf and a prince. He was used, on some level, to people being afraid of him. In one form or another. Human servants were afraid of them because of their own ignorance. Unable to see past primal fears that clouded their judgements. Making beasts out of men. Derek didn’t care for it, but the wolf servants were no better.

He was a wolf of the Hale line. As well as a royal. Other wolves in the palace treaded around him with a certain sense of caution. Even before the attempted coup, even before he became an alpha. That was just how the other wolves around him lived. They were afraid. Because even though he was barely a man, he was a Hale, and a royal.

Stiles seemed to have no trace of any of that in him. He knew for a fact that Derek was a werewolf. Certainly knew that he was a prince. Though the knowledge of the Hale line was probably lost on him. As he was human, and had lived nowhere near the capital. Even still, there was no trace of him being afraid. Even when he had seen Derek partially shifted. Eyes alpha red, and mouth full of fangs.

Regrettably, he had let his uncle get to him. Peter was a good man who was good at what he did. Which was serve the realm with the realm’s best interest in mind. That’s how he had always been. Even if there was a lingering resentment towards his older sister. He served dutifully and faithfully. But much like any person born into power, there was always a catch.

Therein Peter’s being his notorious streak of mischievousness. He was a bit of a child in that regard. He meant well, and never did any real harm. That, Derek knew for sure. That being said, at times, his playfulness spilled over. Treading the line of propriety that tested the limits of even the members of the royal family. Given the man’s knowledge and experience of recent events, he should have known better.

Derek had spent months in his chambers. Only seeing his betas, and only leaving to see his men. Apart from that, he had secluded himself away from court. Away from his family. Away from the comings and goings of his royal life. He had spent five full moons alone. And had driven off countless servants. He wanted to be alone.

Then, Stiles had come crashing through. Entirely unconcerned with just about everything. He was a commoner from far away. Having known nothing of the palace, or the capital, or Derek, or anything that had happened in recent months. Fully and wholly ignorant. Perhaps that’s why he was unafraid. Perhaps that’s why he walked with such an air of nonchalance. Which begged the question, if he wasn’t afraid of Derek, or any member of the royal family, why was he afraid of the forest?

There were plenty of old stories of the many forests in their country. Of how they grew and lived and breathed. Simply tales. Some, though, were horror stories. Nightmares made real and given name and flesh. Stiles was from the country. Perhaps that’s why he felt so uneased here. The stories his mother had told him. The tales of what walked between shadow and light. Of what hunted men and beast alike.

The man’s scent was sour. A repugnant thing that makes Derek’s nostrils twitch. Fear was a scent that all wolves, young or old, royal or commoner knew. It was the scent of prey. The scent that they were taught to follow when hunting. But Stiles was not prey. He was a servant. One who had, despite his own fear, followed Derek into the forest. If only to ensure his wellbeing. Which, in of itself, was a rather astonishing to think about.

Derek had never had much concern with people outside of his men, or his family. As long as the nobles did their jobs, and their respective soldiers did theirs, he was unconcerned. Even before Kate, he was not a sociable person. Not entirely unpleasant, but he did not revel in the cacophony that was court gatherings as Laura did. Perhaps it was because she was to be queen. Perhaps she just had a natural disposition for it.

He had never cared for that part of his life as a royal. People plastering thin smiles across their faces. Trying to gain or curry favor with others. Derek either liked someone or he didn’t. The reflection of one’s character was enough of a determination of someone’s worth. A nobleman trying to marry of his daughters to secure power was a fairly fair tell of a man.

The servants in the palace treated him with detachment. They were there to do a job. Not to be his friend. They hardly ever spoke. They hardly ever did anything that would upset him. He could never trust their opinions or responses. Their purpose was to serve and appease and to please. He was a prince. Having actual, true friends for him was a rare enough thing.

He had no delusions that Stiles had any intensions of being his friend. He was a servant. One who was being paid to be here. But, at the very least, he could trust that the man had his best interests in mind. Which was good enough to keep him. For now. Derek had no desire to be immersed back into the world that he had retreated from. Not now. And not for the foreseeable future.

They walk at an even pace. With Stiles just a few steps behind Derek. His breathing is somewhat labored. Being human was enough of a problem. Being dressed in those ridiculous clothes was another. He made a note to have the man dressed in something slightly more reasonable. If he was to truly follow Derek around at any given time, he would need to be dressed lighter.

Especially given that summer would soon be upon them. And even during the later part of the evening, the sun never seemed to relent. Stiles kept good pace. But was obviously on the verge of being winded. Even more so when a figure came dashing through the trees, slamming into the human. Knocking him to the ground with an aggravated huff.

Erica Reyes was the daughter of a merchant, and the second person that Derek had turned since he became an alpha. She was fiery, quick witted, and entirely too mischievous. On any other occasion, Derek would have turned literally any other human. But she was in need of it, and he was no different.

The she-wolf had Stiles pinned to the ground. Smiling like the cat that got the canary. A vicious red thing that meant no real harm. She was playing a game. One that she had done with other servants. Derek may have done everything that he could to rid himself of the ones his mother sent. Erica liked to tease them until they screamed. Even if she wasn’t a royal, or even a noble, she was his beta. Which meant that she knew that she could get away with such childish antics.

“He’s cute. A little thin for my tastes, but cute all the same.”

“Pardon, miss. But I am not thin. I assure you, I am very well fed. It’s just that I have to actually work for a living. So I don’t really have any fat to cling to me.” Stiles’ voice was even and free from fear or anxiety. As if having a strange woman pinning him to the forest floor was a perfectly acceptable thing.

“Oh, catty as well. I like this one. We’re keeping him.” Derek huffed in derision, plucking his beta from atop the man. Who then pouted like a spoiled pup. He set her down as Stiles rose to stand. Brushing the dirt from his trousers. He wasn’t even irritated.

“Forgive the informality of my beta. She forgets that humans, despite formally being one, do not greet one another in that manner.” Derek glares at the she-wolf, making a point to properly discipline her later. He had no desire to keep Stiles around for very long. But tackling him to the ground was entirely uncalled for. Derek may have driven off countless servants, but he certainly never got physical with them.

Isaac and Boyd join them less than a minute later. Now doubt having lost Erica the moment that she took off. Of the three, she was the fastest, and certainly would give a born wolf a run for their money. She had taken to being a werewolf with a natural ease. Though she still had plenty to learn.

Boyd is stone faced, as always. But clearly unamused by his pack mate’s antics. He was the more mature of the betas Derek had made, as well as his second. Had he been even remotely like Erica, Derek would have heavily reconsidered the choices he’d made in making a pack.

Isaac is somewhat winded, but not overly so. He had less stamina than the other three, but was by far the most agile. Able to dodge and weave and juke at a moment’s notice. His natural flexibility made him a damn good fighter. For which Derek was grateful for on any other occasion. Now, not so much.

Being born wolves, the three of them were still coming to term with their sense. Trying make the world seem smaller and far less loud. Humans had even more trouble than born wolves. As everything that they had known was turned upside down and inside out. Which made meeting Stiles in this way all the more challenging.

Derek had smelled a threat from the moment the man had walked into his chambers. There was an air about him that made his wolf raise its hackles in alarm. Which was an odd thing to think about. Stiles was perfectly human, and a commoner. He did not carry himself as if he had knowledge of the sword or the bow. Derek knew a warrior when he saw one. Stiles, decidedly, was not.

Isaac’s nostrils flare wildly. Recognizing the same scent Derek had. He was the most defensive of the betas. Given his past. Derek did not blame him for growling at the man with his eyes flashing a dangerous shade of gold. Stiles was unknown and smelled lethal. Despite being human.

To his surprise, the man did not even react to Isaac’s display of aggression. In fact, he ignored him entirely. As if a prone, attack ready werewolf was nothing to be afraid of. Derek had to admire the man’s mettle. Any other human he knew would have scampered off into the trees. Or, at the very least, bowed their head and put their eyes to the ground. Stiles did neither. He truly was a strange person in that regard.

Derek wondered if something had happened to him. Something that made him so unafraid of people that would’ve otherwise terrified his fellow humans. One didn’t just develop nerves like that without cause. Had Stiles been a soldier, or had some kind of combat training, Stiles would have made sense. But he didn’t. He was just an ordinary human. Which also begged the question, how had he tracked Derek through the forest as quickly as he did?

Stiles was a country boy. A human at that. Certainly he didn’t track Derek by scent. That being said, the alpha hadn’t bothered with hiding himself. Leaving a rather obvious trail that any decent tracker could have followed. But Stiles did not seem the type to have any such skills. If he recalled correctly, his mother had said that he mended things at lunch. That he was, in his own words, a jack of all trades.

The thought lingers in Derek’s mind for only a moment longer. It leaves as quickly as it came. In light of that, he introduces Stiles to Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Erica is still delighted with the man’s presence. Absolutely giddy with mirth. Boyd pays him no mind whatsoever. As still as stone. Silently memorizing everything he could about the man. Isaac’s eyes were back to their human color, but he was no less on guard for the matter.

The five of them walk back in silence. Stiles beside Derek, away from the other three wolves. He still shows not one sign of fear as they approach the palace. Once they clear the trees, the betas disperse. Off to their daily duties. None of them were of the noble class, and Derek knew that full well when he turned them. He made sure to instill a proper amount of discipline and duty into all three of them.

The choice to make his official pack from commoners was not well received by many. His family had no issue with it whatsoever. They were just happy that he had chosen betas to begin with. That he was making an effort to stabilize himself after becoming an alpha. The nobles…the nobles had plenty to say. Never to his face. Only in hushed whispers at court. Away from his ears, and certainly away from his mother’s.

None of his betas seemed to mind the fact that they were gossiped about all that much. Isaac was just happy to belong somewhere. Having escaped his violent, drunkard father was good enough. Having a place in the royal palace, along with others like him was a dream. A few idle words were hardly enough to unnerve him.

Boyd was cut from the same cloth. His family was massive. To the point where he felt isolated in his own home. As soon as he was of age, he rode to the capital, looking for work and somewhere he felt needed. Derek happened upon him by chance, and honestly, was the best of his three betas. At least in responsibility.

Erica came from a semi wealthy family, but as afflicted with some form illness. One that was slowly killing her. Derek could smell the sickness from a mile off. The young woman was all too happy to be freed from her affliction, and have a place in the palace. Her parents also benefited from the relationship as they now had access to the nobles at court. Which made them all the richer.

Derek, at times, was annoyed with his pack. But they were the perfect fit for him. The idea of turning any human noble was distasteful. They would’ve only brownnosed him to the point of lunacy. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd liked being pack because they liked it. They were grateful to Derek, and showed it through action rather than honeyed words.

What the alpha worried over now was Stiles’ presence. He unnerved every wolf he came across. Derek could see the faces of the other servants as they had walked to the dining hall. How eyes turned, not only towards him, but Stiles as well. He worried that the man’s presence might disrupt his pack. If Isaac’s reaction was anything to go by.

All the more reason to have the servant dismiss himself as quickly as possible. It was bad enough that Derek had to endure a lunch he didn’t want. But if the man upset his betas, that would only make matters worse. He was ornery enough on a good day. Without the cohesive union of his pack, his temperament would only grow to be worse.

When he reenters the palace, Derek sets of for the war room. A brisk walk, hopeful that he is able to outpace the servant trailing behind him. No such luck. The young man is tired, but does not falter. He would have to think of something else.

His lieutenants are already present and give him a quick and concise report of anything deemed relevant. There were no obstructions in the borders. The trade routes were clear apart from a few stray bandits. For which a regiment of knights had already been dispatched to handle. All in all, there wasn’t really anything to talk about. He heads back towards his chambers as soon as it’s done.

Stiles is no less vigorous in keeping. When they reach his room, Derek flings off his clothes. Tired of the formal wear and the discomfort that they brought. He slips into a pair of trousers. Falling onto the bed with his arm covering his eyes. He was exhausted. With more than enough reason to be.

“Draw me a bath.” He had no real need to bathe. But it would give Stiles something to do for an hour or so while he heated the water.

“As you wish, Highness.” The servant heads towards the bathing chamber. No doubt going to be busy long enough to close his eyes. At the very least, he could relax. Free of anyone’s presence. Including the servant his mother had forced upon him.

Only, that wasn’t the case. As it only felt like minutes later that Stiles returned. Going through Derek’s wardrobe. Picking out a fresh set of clothes for him to wear. The alpha rose to stare at the young man. Wondering what in the hell he was doing.

“I asked you to draw me a bath.”

“And I have, Your Highness. The water is sufficiently warmed and perfumed.”

Derek raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but did not say anything against the man. He had detected no fault in his heartbeat. He heard no lie. So, to see the truth for himself, Derek shot up. Heading towards the bathing chamber. What he found was impossible. The tub was full of water. Hot water at that. Soft curls of steam swirled up from the surface. The scent of marigolds and lilies saturated the room. Stiles had not lied. He had drawn a bath, heated the water, and perfumed it. All in less than half an hour.

“How….”

“Family secret, Your Highness.” Stiles smiled like the devil. For a moment, Derek was reminded of his uncle. He really was going to have to think of something clever to get rid of this one. For now, he was going to try and enjoy his bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a first meeting. And I think Derek is starting to learn that Stiles isn't going to be so easily thrown off. Next chapter, day to day can be boring, but illuminating. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, and some humor.

Stiles was sufficiently tired when dinner time came around. Not that Derek had made him do anything especially arduous or strenuous. But following him around all of god’s creation did tire him out. His poor legs weren’t used to quite this much walking. That being said, at the very least, it was eventful day. Not once was he ever bored. That was something.

The prince, in all his standoffish, bullheadedness, had tried his hardest to get Stiles to leave. To find the one thing that would drive him away, and be, yet again, left to his own devices. The young man handled it in stride. Taking no shit from one Derek Hale. Even when the tasks became mundane and pointless. Like chopping firewood when the prince had plenty already stacked. Among other things.

He was well accustomed to labor. Given that he often mended things back in town. The simple chore of chopping fire wood was no great task at all. Especially given that his magic was always ready to lend a hand. Whenever he would chop would back home, the axe always seemed to hit the perfect spot. Splitting the wood right down the middle. Cleanly and evenly.

Derek’s face was pinched in an amusing manner when he returned less than an hour later. A bundle of wood strapped to his back. The alpha seemed duly perturbed and had little to say other than to attend to his betas until dinnertime. Stiles, quietly, placed the firewood next to the furnace. Leaving with a curt smile, and a sense of accomplishment. The prince would have to work harder than that if he wanted him gone.

The betas are all together in one of the palace’s many common rooms. Upon entering, the woman, Erica, leaps towards him. Nearly shattering his spine with how fiercely she hugs him. The man, the larger of them anyway, huffs in derision. As if irritated by her antics. The thin one with curly hair looks at him like he had crawled out of the deepest pits of hell. He still didn’t care for Stiles all that much.

Apparently, he smelled like a threat. That’s what Peter had said. That’s how he had explained it. Stiles knew it was because of his magic. That part of him that was…well…more. They were werewolves, and had magic in their blood. Not the same as his. But magic. It was focused on their shape and form. While his magic could be extended out from him, and change the world around him.

They were two sides of the same coin. Which was why they felt so uneasy around him. Well, some of them. Erica seemed to have absolutely no qualms about hanging on him in that casual way. As if they were friends. She smiled and laughed. Removing her hold from Stiles, and throwing herself down in the ottoman. Charmingly demand that he rub her feet. She smiled ridiculously as she stripped her shoes. Wiggling her toes at him.

The request itself was ridiculous. But Stiles was in no position to refuse. So, he did as he was told. The young she-wolf laid her head back, purring like a cat lying in the sun. The larger one, Boyd, stood up. Exiting in a huff. Eyes a dangerous shade of gold. Isaac continued to look at Stiles like he was the most terrible thing to walk creation. He ignored the wolf and just rubbed the woman’s feet as she had requested. Trying desperately to hide the blush that threatened to creep along his face.

After an hour, Erica’s eyes began to flutter. And it wasn’t long before she went to sleep. Isaac, now heavily engrossed in a book, did not look up from his pages. Stiles had no delusions that the werewolf was paying any attention to it. His eyes may have been on the book, but his focus was solely on him, and him alone.

He stands and asks the other werewolf if he requires anything. The young man does not answer, and dismisses Stiles with a wave of his hand. Clearly tired of his presence. No longer needed, or wanted for that matter, he left with a small bow of his head. Trying to find his way back to the prince’s quarters. The palace was far larger than needed. At least, from Stiles’ perspective. Then again, he was just a commoner from a small town. So many miles away.

When he does make it back to Derek’s quarters, the alpha is asleep. Snoring softly and without a care in the world. Stiles wondered what it must be like to nap in the middle of the day. Quite like a vagabond. He had no doubt that the prince took his position seriously. And that he, like the other members of his family, worked to help run their country. Seeing him like this though…it was almost comical.

Gently, as to not disturb the man, he places a downy quilt over him. Stoking the fire before leaving. There was a chill in the air. Quite uncommon in this time of year. Perhaps it was because the palace was so large and spacious. That the heat had nothing to anchor itself to. At the very least, Stiles was warm. Given the many layers of clothing he wore. He wondered if all the servants to the royals had to dress such as this.

The hours dragged and dragged. Given that he had nothing to do. So, he did nothing. He simply waited outside the prince’s chambers, waiting for some manner of instructions. After a while, he felt his stomach grumble in displeasure. The bread and milk he had received earlier had long since run their course. And he needed to pee. Though he dared not use the prince’s toilet. Given that he’d likely be flogged for it.

Just as his stomach started to grow louder, another servant came by. A small platter of cheese and dried meats with her. She hands them to Stiles. Not ever once looking him in the face. Almost as if she was afraid. The young woman was a werewolf. So it was plausible that she felt the same ‘threat’ that Peter and the others had. Stiles was still having trouble understanding why they were all so afraid of him. Even if he kept the fact that he had magic a secret, there was at least one other person like him in the palace. One that had been here long enough to be around the royal family. As well as the other servants.

Stiles thanks the woman. She simply walks away. Briskly retreating as if she had just had to feed a feral hound. He wondered if all the other servants were going to be like this. Maybe it was because of his magic. Maybe it was because that he was serving Derek. Who seemed to have something of a reputation in the palace. As when they had walked by anyone outside of his family, they all kept their heads bowed and eyes to the floor.

He knocks gently. Entering with the plate of food. The alpha is already sitting. Eyes a soft, warm red. They are…peaceful. Then, as quickly as that came, it was gone. Derek’s face pinched in an awful way. Nose crinkling in disgust. Throwing the quilt that Stiles had placed over him across the room. He ignored the tantrum, and places the platter down next to the man.

He dismisses it coldly. Saying that he wasn’t hungry. Taking the opportunity, Stiles eats instead. He was famished. Derek just watches him. His face never making any other expression than one of pointed annoyance. The prince is obviously irritated, but Stiles ignores him in favor of stuffing his face. They were still on rocky terms. At best. He didn’t have the capacity to care. As he was given a job, and he intended to do it. Even if Derek wanted to behave like a child.

When he’s eaten what he feels is an appropriate amount of food, he dismisses himself. It takes him nearly fifteen minutes to find the right path. The kitchen was busy in preparations for dinner, and Stiles placing a tray down was hardly noticed. The people in the kitchen didn’t even acknowledge him, and went about their business. He just left and went back towards Derek’s chambers. Hoping that the alpha would be in a better mood when he arrived.

That was, as it turned out, not the case. Derek seemed to be even more perturbed. But made no more childish antics. Or otherwise tried to have Stiles dismiss himself from the prince’s service. He was just…sullen. No more than he had when they met at the beginning of the day. The man didn’t say anything to Stiles, and Stiles said nothing to him. They simply just sat in silence. And that was the remainder of their time together.

When dinner came around, a servant brought trays of food for both of them. Stiles eats in silence, as does Derek. There wasn’t any real need to talk. When they finish, Stiles takes the soiled dishes away, excusing himself. The prince dismisses him for the day as he leaves. Telling him that he wouldn’t need him until morning.

The sun had already set by the time Stiles returned from the kitchen. The day long and over with. His body ached. But he was satisfied. The so called taciturn prince was easy enough to manage. Even if his betas were somewhat standoffish. Much like the alpha himself. Well, except for Erica. She was all too inviting. Stiles tried not think about it.

Before he can wonder what to do next, a regal looking woman approaches him. Directing him towards his chambers. Apparently, servants that worked directly for the royals got their own room. As well as their own wardrobe. The clothes were simple, but well above what he could afford back home. The woman gives him a key, telling him how to find the baths the servants used.

She leaves without another word. Being the only person who didn’t seem actively threatened by his presence. If anything, she seemed utterly uninterested in much of anything about him. At the very least, he could appreciate that. Apart from Erica and Peter, no one else had a sense of calm when he was near.

As he finds his clothes for bed, he notices a small, unassuming coin purse on the end table. It is filled with gold. Not silver, or bronze, or copper coins. But gold. The amount of money in this one small coin purse was more than his father earned in a month. Alongside it was a piece of parchment. In elegant hand writing, it only said one thing.

_Thank you._

Stiles smiled and decided that, maybe, just maybe, this family wasn’t so bad after all. He found a small little nook to hide the thing in. Wondering who had decided to give him such a generous gift. Had he been a werewolf, he would’ve known by scent. His magic was good at finding people when he needed it to. But he removed the thought from his mind as he headed towards the baths. He could worry about it tomorrow.

***

Derek was fuming. Fuming and unsettled and ready for this charade to be over with. He had made it abundantly clear that he did want, nor did he need a personal servant. His mother and older sister seemed to disagree. As they had sent yet another one, and he, unlike the others, was bound and determined to fulfill the job given to him. The others were easily intimidated by Derek, and didn’t tend to last all that long. Stiles, it seemed, had no care for the man’s position. Nor the overtures that he made to display. Each of them had been pointedly ignored.

Things came to a head when the man had covered him with a quilt. The action in of itself was innocuous and done with little forethought. Given that Stiles was human. And with that, gave no regard to scents, or the placing of objects that carried them. Especially his own. He would’ve no doubt been told by Peter, (the tactless bastard), that he smelled like a threat. So when Derek woke up and smelled his scent first thing, it did not go over well.

Stiles’ own scent, at first, was benign. Soft, aromatic spices that reminded Derek of fall. He was not a labor or a soldier. And did not have the scent of either on him. Those telling signs of sweat, and dirt, and a grindstone. There was, however, a tinge at the edge of him. Something old and dark and dangerous. Almost electric. Kind of like the way the sky smelled before lighting struck. It always put Derek on alert whenever he was near.

He had to actively restrain himself from shifting in the presence of the other man. Who had, once today already, seen him partially shifted in the woods. Derek was not the type to so idly show his wolf. But his uncle’s comments at lunch had driven his temper. Since that was disgraceful to both his station, and his name, he regarded himself in low standards. Even if he did like Stiles, and was of a less poor disposition, a prince did not shift in front of their servants.

Even with his frustration and his irritation, Derek did not reprimand the man. Though, it would have been a wonderful way to try and drive him out. But part of him knew that it would have been in distaste. It was one thing to be in a foul mood overall. But punishing a human for not knowing of werewolves was in poor conduct. The goal was to get rid of him, but Derek did not have to behave like a complete ass in the process.

After dinner, he changes clothes. The vague scent of Stiles lingering on him. It would be gone by the morning, but his wolf was unsettled. To appease it, he should have taken a bath. But he had already dismissed the man for the evening. And he had no desire to heat any water.

Just as he is finished changing for the evening, the doors to his chambers fly open. He neatly dodges Erica as she throws herself towards him. It was a game she liked to play. Ever since he had turned the young woman, she had been unreasonably playful. Almost like a pup learning the shift for the first time. Which, given that she had been human, was understandable. But Derek could only tolerate so much playfulness. She was a grown woman. An educated woman. He expected better from her. At the very least, she did not behave in such a way on the rare occasions they were in public together.

Isaac enters after her. Face pinched in a way that let Derek know exactly what his beta was feeling. In that he had actively tried to cease his pack mate’s antics, and failed dramatically. Boyd entered last, shutting the doors behind him. As Derek’s second, he was cut from the same cloth. In that he did not tolerate foolery or nonsense. But he also knew the beta had a soft spot for Erica, and would have to be hard pressed to chastise her.

Now calmed, and knowing that Derek was not in the mood to play, the she-wolf embraces him properly. Without the unneeded mischief behind her eyes. It’s during that embrace that he notices Stiles’ scent on her. More so than if she had just casually brushed against him, or hugged him. Derek let his eyes turn red, and his beta retreated. Giggling like a damn child.

“You had him rub for your feet.” It was not a question. As Isaac had told him when Erica had refused to answer. Derek was more than irritated.

“It was just a bit of fun, is all. He’s cute and so damn innocent looking. I thought you didn’t even want him.”

Derek growls low in his throat, and Erica shrinks down into herself. There was a lot Derek could overlook, given that the three of them had been human. Werewolves were complex social creatures by their nature. Their dynamics were not the same as humans. They were more playful and tactile than your average person. But Erica had forgotten her position.

Yes, Derek was of a foul disposition, and generally unpleasant to be around on an ordinary day. He was not exactly sunshine towards the servants his mother had sent him. Only towards his men and his betas. For them, he reserved his own issues, and kept his decorum. But this…this was not necessary.

“He is a servant, not a kept boy. Not a plaything to amuse yourself with. Don’t abuse your position again.”

Erica nodded and slunk her way over towards Boyd. The man wrapped his arms around the she-wolf. Comforting her. Being scolded by ones alpha was an unpleasant sensation. Every beta had the inborn drive to please their alpha. So when they faced with disappointment, it stung. Derek was only a little sorry. He wanted Stiles gone. That was true. But, given where Derek had come from, and what he had endured, there were certain methods that he would not employ. Even if Stiles did get on his nerves…There were some lines that he would not allow anyone to cross.

He joins his betas, not ten minutes later. He was still angry with Erica and her antics. And she deserved to be chastised for her childishness. That was without question. But he also knew the pain of an alpha’s disappointment. Better than anyone. So, he could not leave her.

It was rare that the four of them were together like this. With just the time of the world, and the stillness of the night. It was comforting in a way that only wolves would have understood. The three of them were still coming to terms with the level of dependence they found in each other. Derek had taught them, in the beginning. Now, they had to figure out the rest of themselves. He lets Erica rest her head against his shoulder. Eyes fluttering shut at the embrace of her alpha. He didn’t want to be anywhere else but here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was...illuminating. Everyone's behavior will be explained as the story goes on. Derek, Erica, and Stiles among them. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the most plot heavy chapter so far. Please pay attention. It's a lot of low grade angst. With some mild fluff towards the end. Have fun.

Stiles had been in the employ of the royal palace, specifically Derek, for three weeks. Things were…well they were borderline hilarious. The prince, in all his ornery unpleasantness, had found no way to get rid of Stiles. Despite his many, many efforts. At this point, it was just a routine that he put on to get himself through the day. There was no measure that could get him to quit.

For the most part, Stiles duties and tasks boiled down to the bare essentials of daily life. Dress the prince. Make sure the prince has his breakfast. Make sure the prince attends any meetings for which he is required. So on and so forth. It was all very mundane. The most interesting and exciting part of his day was getting to see what he would be eating for each meal. The food was certainly of a better quality than anything he would get back home.

There was also the matter of the prince’s betas. Each of whom, on some level, Stiles had gotten to know. Whenever the prince decided to be free of Stiles for any length of time, he would send him on some formless, mundane task that had no real purpose. This included attending to his betas. Of which there was plenty to do. Even if they didn’t always enjoy his presence.

Boyd was a man a few words. Well, no words actually. In the three weeks Stiles had been at the capital, he had said only a sparse few sentences. Usually simple instructions. Or, like his alpha, some pointless task that did nothing but eat away time. Stiles did not mind. The man was far more pleasant than the prince any day of the week. And he even said the occasional thank you. They didn’t talk idly. Or ask about one another’s lives. They had their routine.

Isaac was a far greater task to have at hand. Like Derek, there was an intrinsic irritation that the wolf felt towards him. The prince’s was obvious enough. Given that he had made it clear that he had no desire for a servant of any kind. Let alone a personal one. Isaac….He seemed to just dislike him for the principal of the matter. He was never overtly rude or malicious. But certainly wasn’t a treat to deal with either. He often dismissed Stiles after barely an hour.

Erica…Erica was something in of herself. Given that she seemed to beam with joy whenever he was around. No matter the day. No matter the time. No matter anything, she was happy to have him around. That being said, she had been decidedly less touchy as of late. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. As attractive as the she-wolf may have been, she was still a person of station, and a relative stranger. He was there to work and do his job.

It had become passive touches and soft smiles. She was still as energetic as ever. Which seemed to be fine. Stiles had always been an exuberant lad. And he could be a little less formal with Erica as opposed to the others. Some days, the better days, it felt like they were almost friends. Which was a strange thing to think about. Given the massive separation in class that stood between them. Regardless, he never minded when he was ordered to attend to her.

The real issue, the issue that he took problem with the most, was the other members of the royal family. Namely, Peter Hale. They all, on some level seemed to always be around the corner. In one form or another. Passing by, curt nods and gentle smiles. It disturbed Stiles that he always seemed to be surrounded by them. Almost as if he never really had a chance to really be alone. The sensation of eyes on the back his head always sent shivers down his spine.

Peter was the worst of them. By far, he was the worst. Not in any obvious or notable way. If Derek was unpleasant, and Cora was standoffish, and Laura was passive, Peter was aggressive. But not in any way that others would notice. Not if they just passed by. One had to look, intensely look, to see that the man was playing a game. Stiles was a piece on the board to him. And he did not enjoy being made to be a part of game.

It was often casual, easy conversation. At least, casual for Peter. Stiles had no illusions that they were, in any way, friends. Or even acquaintances for that matter. The man was able to be casual because of his status as a member of the royal family. On rare occasions, the two of them had tea. And Peter asked about his day. Today, as it turned out, was one of those occasions. As Stiles had been summoned by another servant. Finding himself in one of the palace’s many drawing rooms.

This one is not as opulent as the other rooms he had found himself summoned to. It is soft browns and warm vanillas. Tranquil. Peaceful in a strange way. Peter was already there. A small book in hand. Thumbing through the pages without really paying any attention. Stiles could at least tell that much. Peter Hale was not the type to idly waste his attention. On anyone or anything. There was another purpose to him playing the fool.

The man motions for him to sit. Smiling that devilish smile of his. He knows that there is no danger or imminent threat. Regardless, there is the smallest of hesitations before he complies. Even after three weeks, Peter still unnerved him in a way that he could not explain. Much like any other werewolf, there was a predatory sense about him. But unlike the others that Stiles had encountered in the palace, the sensation was…magnified.

“Thank you for joining me Stiles. It’s lovely to see you.” The man continued to smile as he poured the tea.

In all of their conversations, whenever it was served, Peter was the one to pour the first cup. And he always gave it to Stiles. Along with whatever finger foods they had at the time. It was an odd thing. To be served by a royal. Any commoner would have expected being made to serve, rather than being the ones being served. That was not the case for Peter Hale. For whatever reason, one that Stiles had yet to unravel, the man was content to serve someone well beneath his station.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, no problem. I was wondering if we could have a little chat. That is, if you’re up for it.” Peter’s tone was plain and unremarkable as he sipped his tea. But the implication was clear. They were going to talk. The inquiry of whether he was up for it was merely a false nicety.

“Tonight is the full moon. Did you know?” Peter’s smile had cracked at the edges. Ever so slightly.

“I did not, sir. That’s to be a special time for you then.” Stiles still had not taken a sip of his tea.

Peter nibbled on the edge of cookie. Looking at Stiles was if he was a puzzle to solve, or a riddle to decipher. It was the way he always looked at him when the two of them spoke in private. It was a strange look. If he didn’t know any better, Peter was as unnerved by Stiles as he was of Peter. It was a strange thing to consider. Given that the man could break half his bones as quick as he could breathe.

“Well, we don’t celebrate every full moon. That would be a senseless waste of money. But this full moon…It is something special in a certain regard. Given that you’re the first servant to last this long.”

“I do try, sir. His Highness is not as dislikable as he makes himself to be.” Stiles took a sip of his tea. It was something floral with a citrus undertone.

“Yes, well…Derek has….Let’s say there was a lot that has happened. More so than any one man should face. And it has made his control….unstable.”

This was the part that Stiles hated the most about being here. The half-truths and buried whispers. People talked about other people. But only in fractions and pieces and broken stories. He had heard the other servants speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Away from prying werewolf ears. It was absurdly irritating.

There was a lot of talk about Derek. Why he was an alpha. The reasons behind the foulness of his temperament. There were rumors and stories and gossip abound. Stiles did his best to not and pay any attention to it. The person that Derek was did not concern his station or his job. So long as he did his duties as required, he saw no problem with the way the prince was. Every man faced their hardships. It was their business on how to deal with them.

“Given the strenuousness that is the full moon, and all that it entails, I thought I might offer you a reprieve for the night. Away from what is sure to be yet another unfortunate time for my nephew.”

“Forgive me sir, but I will have to decline. Though it is appreciated. I have survived for three weeks. I do believe I can survive one more night.” Stiles smiled _that_ smile of his. The one that matched Peter’s own.

“Careful now. Tis a dangerous thing to underestimate a werewolf on the full moon.”

The man sipped his tea, fully biting down on a cookie. Much like the other times they had spoken over the last several weeks, this was a game. Peter was a game master. He enjoyed his schemes and his tricks and his plots. This was yet another. To see Stiles out, and what he might choose. In short, the man was little better than a child.

“There are older, and darker things in the world than werewolves, sir.”

“Ha! I’m so glad that you decided to come to the capital. But do be cautious. There are limits to your own lack of self-preservation.” Peter wasn’t smiling anymore.

The man finishes his tea. Leaving Stiles with plenty of questions. None of which he had any right to ask. These were royals. Their world seemed bloated and detached from the one that he had grown up in. they spoke in halves, and left more confusion when they left. It was irritating. But they paid well. And Stiles never did know when to give up.

***

Derek was on edge. Well, more than he normally was that is. Given what tonight was. The full moon. That time for werewolves that tested everything that they were. Ever since Deucalion had conspired with Kate and Gerard to overthrow the crown, he had…he had lost what he was. What his life had been was destroyed and shattered into pieces. Like a stone through a window.

Even with their intense hatred of everything non-human, Kate and Gerard had conspired with the man closest to usurping the throne. The man who felt it was his right to rule as opposed to the Hales. Deucalion had never hidden his disdain for the fact that he was only a Lord. And nowhere near the crown. The fact that it took him as long as he did to mount of rebellion was almost comical.

They last nearly a hundred men. A hundred good men, dead and gone from the world. Women were widowed. Children, orphaned. Derek remembered all of their names. He remembered all of their names because it was his fault. He had let Kate’ sly words and silky hands blind him from the truth. As a result, innocent men were dead. And he had nearly let his country fall to ruin.

Ever since then, his control had been slipping. Further and further and further. He had not meant to kill Deucalion. More than anything, he wanted to see the man’s head on a chopping block. Executed for all to see. The would be messiah, fallen and dead. The supposed savior of their country, humiliated. He took a dark satisfaction in that thought. But he had killed the man. And now, against everything that he ever wanted, he was an alpha.

It tore the line of succession clean in to. Laura was the first born, and that meant, in the eyes of the law, she was the rightful heir to the throne. The older names, the older families, felt differently. The law said ‘first born’. It did not say ‘first born son’. Despite that, the traditionalists felt that a woman should not take the place. A woman was to marry a man and let him rule.

Derek had no intention of taking the throne from his sister. In any way. He had made that clear to his family. He had made that clear to his men. Even still, people whispered and gossiped like hens in the night. Of all the ways that Derek was better. Of all the ways that he deserved the throne. On more than one occasion, he had the distinct urge to throttle them.

This full moon would not be any different from the ones before it. He would be spending it in his room. Away from the world. Away from where anyone could see his abysmal state. He was a Hale. A proud Hale that had been trained from the first shift to control himself. In truth, he was ashamed. Thankfully, his family decided to give him his distance. Smothering him would not have solved anything.

Part of him felt guilty. Knowing that his betas would desire to be close to their alpha. To be entangled together. Or running through the trees. Anything, as long as they were together. But an alpha’s betas were subjective to their temperament. To their lack of control. If the alpha was out of shape, so were the betas. He did not wish for his burdens to become theirs. That was disgraceful. And he had disgraced himself enough as it stood.

The day started as well as it could. Like the previous three weeks, Stiles made sure he had breakfast. Heated a bath if he so desired it. Made sure that he had freshly pressed clothes. So on and so forth. The young man was resilient in every way possible. No matter Derek’s mood, no matter how unpleasant he may have been, the man would not be driven away.

It was both impressive and irritating. He had lasted longer than any other servant that his family had assigned to him. There were reasons behind that anomaly. And ones that Derek was curious about. Despite being completely human serving werewolves, (and an alpha at that), Derek had never once detected any ounce of fear in him. Perhaps he had yet to see the danger that werewolves could truly pose. Perhaps he had yet to be tempered by the world. Regardless, if he decided to stay by Derek’s side tonight, he would get a cruel taste of that.

Still…Stiles was different from the other servants that his mother had tried to assign to him. He was the first of them to feel no real fear or anxiety in serving him. Or his betas for that matter. That was strange. That and he was…Good. Stiles was a smart ass that didn’t miss a beat and never fell behind. Even when Peter was involved. But he was just…good. He seemed to fit in a way that defied sense or reason.

He was not pack. Not anywhere near it. That much was certain. Regardless, the manner in which he acclimated in such a short time was astounding. Derek still felt his nerves hit a steel edge when he caught the man’s scent. That strange, electrifying thing that seemed like a threat. He was an alpha werewolf of the Hale line. There were very few things that he could ever consider a threat.

The others, on some level, felt it as well. Isaac the most. Given who is father was, and where he came from, that instinct would always hit him the hardest. He may have now been a werewolf, but old fears, the deeper fears, were the hardest to dispel. Boyd was less obvious on the matter. And silent in that way that was clever and observant. Erica, the rambunctious minx, loved Stiles to no end. Even still, she too felt that twinge of fear when he walked in the room. Even if it only lasted a second.

Stiles tolerated all of their eccentricities with a versatile ease. There was never anything that ever seemed to really faze him. Not in a way that mattered. Tonight, that would tested. As soon as lunch was served, Erica bursts in, dragging him away with a wicked smile on her face. Derek had already lectured her on that proprieties expected of a person of her station. And that Stiles, as well as they got along, did not exist to serve as her toy.

Boyd had a pointed look of annoyance on his face as they left. Derek did not have to be a genius as to figure out why. But that was his beta’s mess to sort out. Isaac ignored all of them entirely. He was rather good at that. Detaching himself from the foolishness of others. It was a good trait. Not being affected so much by others.

Towards the later part of the evening, when dinner is served, Derek can feel the first pull of the moon. The sensation is familiar. A comfortable weight at the back of his mind. Letting him know that it’s coming. There is only a small amount of tension as Stiles brings his dinner.

The both of them eat in silence. For whatever reason, the usual chattiness that he carries with him is absent. Perhaps he knows what tonight it. Perhaps he doesn’t. Regardless, the quietness of their meal is soothing. Stiles is soothing. Which was a dangerous thought to have. Derek did not like the implications. Of finding himself being fond of the young man.

He clears away the dishes without comment. Bowing respectfully. Erica and the others stop by not long after. The moon would be fully in the sky soon enough. It would be yet another they would spend separate. But Derek would comfort them as long as he could. When they leave, he feels his heart twinge.

The arrival of the moon is both climatic and not in the same moment. He can feel his wolf rumble and the displeasure in it is obvious. He ignores it. After the first hour, he feels his fangs sting in his mouth. It was the first sign that he was losing control over his shift. His entire body tenses as the first streaks of moonlight enter his room. He wonders how much longer he can do this. How much longer the guilt he carries will gnaw away at him. Taking from him everything that he was. He wonders even as the door opens.

Stiles’ scent was alarming and enticing and dangerous on a good day. Now, during the full moon, when his senses were at their highest, Derek felt his entire body go cold. There was, as always, the softness of the forest after the rain. Followed by that wild edge that made him feel threatened. He cannot help the growl that escapes him. Regardless the man enters. Entirely ignoring the half shifted alpha werewolf in the room.

The man sits down on the bed next to him. A respectful distance. Looking at through the window into the clear night that lay before them. Derek could not detect any fear from him. No terror. Not even the slightest hint of anxiety. He was truly, completely, unafraid. He wondered just what kind of man Stiles really was. To be so calm. Even when the world around seemed anything but.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His words sounded strange and funny. Talking with his fangs out had never been Derek’s strong suit.

“So I have been told. Your uncle was most emphatic on the matter. Even offered to have me take the night off. Surprisingly gracious. It was the most pleasant conversation we’ve had since my arrival.”

Derek could not hear a lie in the man’s heartbeat. No uptick or strange quickening. He was telling the truth. Peter had, more than likely, given some manner of details as to why he was making the offer. His family did not discuss the length of what had happened. The mistakes that Derek had made. Not even amongst themselves. The only ones that knew the full truth were his parents. And even then, he had kept certain things to himself.

“Why are you here, Stiles?” it sounded angrier than he intended. But he wasn’t angry. Just curious.

“Pardon, Highness. But I thought you should not be alone tonight. After what has happened.”

Derek felt his blood run cold as the color drained from his face. Peter may have let his tongue slip even more than he thought. Told Stiles details that were meant to be kept private. Details that he wanted buried and gone. He wondered just what the man knew, and what his real intentions were.

“And what has happened for you to so blatantly disregard your own safety?”

“Your uncle told me only that you have suffered, and that his affected you in a…personal way. Suffering is not meant to be endured. It is meant to be overcome. With the help of friends that is.” Stiles still hadn’t looked at him. Even as he spoke.

“You consider us to be friends then?”

“Not as such. But I suppose I am better than a lonely silence. On nights like these, my mother would tell me stories. She did, until her passing. I thought I might share some of them. if you are so inclined.” Stiles looks at him now.

Derek knows that he’s still partially shifted. Even still, the man is not afraid. His eyes are the opposite of Derek’s own fiery red. In the moonlight, they are the most luscious amber. Like precious gems. The miraculousness of it made his breath catch in his chest. He looked otherworldly. Almost like something out of a dream.

“I do believe I would like to hear a story. If you are so inclined.”

Stiles smiles in a way that Derek knows is true. It is not deceptive, or filled with falsehoods. It is his smile. He speaks of old things. Old gods. Old creatures from the oldest tales. The thing that adventurers could only dream of. Derek never stops listening. Even as he falls asleep. Even as the song of the moon sings him to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Derek learns about Stiles. And not in a good way. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is relevant. Pay attention to the details.

Things were…strange. Good. But strange. Ever since the full moon, Stiles had noticed several changes. The first, and most important, was in the prince. From their first meeting, Derek had been cantankerous, ornery, and in summation, entirely unpleasant. Now…he was none of those things. Not to say that he went gallivanting about the halls singing ballads. But he was certainly….better.

He didn’t know the source of the change in the man, but he welcomed it regardless. He actually ate most of his meals outside of his chambers now. For which his family was grateful. Exceedingly so. Much like the first time Stiles manage to con his way into getting the man to leave, he was met with fanfare. As well as hugs. Both from the queen and both princesses. Although, Cora’s was less of hug, and more of an affectionate bump. Regardless, things were…better.

Derek was not as reclusive, but he still spent only the bare minimum of time outside of his chambers. Even to eat with his own family. He did, however, attend more and more meetings. That, Stiles did regret somewhat. As his legs were not accustomed to this much walking. Keeping up with an alpha werewolf was strenuous business. On the worst days, he used his magic to help his legs rest.

The meetings, by themselves, were rather dull and mundane. For the most part, it was a matter of everyday things. The parliament was thinking of implementing another series of small tax increases. Tariffs this time, on goods imported from the east. They were rare, and scarce enough that it would not affect the commoner class all that much. Though it would draw a certain amount of ire from a particular group of nobles.

Another was war meetings. Despite the fact that they were not currently at war. It was simply a summation of their armed forces. Derek was a general. And a damn respected one at that. Given how all of his men took a knee when he entered the room. Stiles had never once done such a thing. Only curtly bowed, and used the proper forms of address.

For the most part, he was completely out of the way. He was not a soldier. Trained with a sword or a bow or a spear. He was not a ship master, or a naval officer. Such things were beyond his measure. And therefore, for perhaps the first time in his nineteen years, Stiles kept his mouth shut. Which probably worked in his favor. Give that none of Derek’s lieutenants seemed to like him all that much. If their steel eyed glares were anything to go by. He ignored them.

The other change that he had noticed, as of late, was that of Derek’s pack. Erica, for all her credit, had not really changed all that much. She was as lively and rambunctious as she had been when they first met. Only now, they were back to the touching thing. Hugging, and not so subtle bumping of shoulders. Derek, he had noticed, did the same thing on occasion. Only on a much more restrained scale.

The other thing that he had noticed was in Boyd. The man had never been out and out hostile, or even rude to him. But he certainly didn’t seem to care for Stiles all that much when he was in the room. Now….he almost smiled. Well, as close as he could come to a smile anyway. It happened after Erica had drug Stiles away. To her own personal chambers. Shooing away her maids, and demanding that he help select a dress.

It was a tedious process. His mother was a seamstress, and he knew how to mend cloth if the need arose. But he knew nothing about fashion, or the trends ladies like to follow. Regardless, he endured her many, many questions. Finally settling on a rather reserved sapphire thing. It seemed like the gemstone itself, only woven with fine cottons.

After that, Boyd seemed rather amicable towards him. And even embraced him, (in his own odd way), much like Erica did. Even Isaac was friendly. At least, it was the young wolf’s version of friendly. In that he was not openly flashing his eyes whenever he walked into the room. Or that he did not huff at Stiles’ mere presence. Nor did he feel any anger when the man was near. His magic told him, for the first time since that they had met, that Isaac was…accepting of his being here.

Things were going well. They were…better. Until they weren’t. It was an ordinary Sunday afternoon. Stiles had woke that morning feeling…nasty. There was something that set his spine on edge. Something that crawled along his skins in icy prickles. Whatever it was, he did not know where it was coming from. Only that he felt…disturbed.

Derek makes no comment of his discomfort as he attends to his morning duties. He only gives him a short, concerned look. But says nothing. It is an entirely ordinary day. One that seemed utterly unremarkable. Save for the tension in Stiles’ back. The itch behind his teeth. The source of his discomfort. Of which he had yet to identify.

Breakfast, surprisingly, is a lively affair. With plenty of conversation and joyous noise. Even Derek smiles. Stiles wondered if that was the reason someone kept sneaking coin purses into his room when he was not there. Despite the fact that he locked the door upon leaving every time.

Someone, (probably Peter), had been sliding varying amounts of coin to him since his arrival. He did not know why, but he hid them all the same. Not spending a single cent. The palace provided his clothes. And his meals. Until he could find a reliable means to send it back home, Stiles kept it safely tucked away.

The affairs after breakfast are, for the most part, the same as they were every day. War meetings. Messages from parliament. New proposals. New reports. So on and so forth. Though, today, Derek’s men were slightly less irritated with his presence as opposed to the other times. Even the two members of parliament that stopped by did even shoot him a glare. He considered that to be a rather forward success.

Just before lunch, the last meeting, Stiles felt his skin prickle even more. It had been getting worse as the day went on. His magic rumbled now and again. As if to say something. More specifically, something was wrong. That there was something, or someone, that didn’t belong. That was a threat. He wondered if this is what Derek and the others felt when he was near. If that was the case, he could easily understand why they were so uncomfortable when he was in the room.

The next meeting that they attend puts Derek in a foul mood. Fouler than Stiles had ever seen him. And that was saying something. The man was already on edge before they had arrived. Which was at the back of the palace, in the eastern wing. Far away from, well, everybody. As they drew closer to whatever chambers they were to attend, Stiles could feel his magic sing. When they entered, he knew why.

The first thing that he noticed was the books. Everywhere, covering every viable surface, great stacks along the walls, were books. The second thing he noticed, was the man who owned them. Like Boyd, he hailed from the islands to the south. Skin dark with the sun. Eyes wide and intelligent. Alive with curiosity. He also had magic. This was the presence that Stiles had felt when he first arrived in the palace all those weeks ago.

He had only met one other person with magic, his mother. They had the same talents, the same gift. He knew the feel of magic in another person. That being said, this man’s felt…different in a way. Old, like his own. But wiser. More focused. He brimmed with energy. Enough that it made Derek’s entire body tense. He clearly did not care for this person. At all.

“Thank you for coming, Your Highness. I’m sorry to take some of your valuable time.”

“Let’s get this over with. I have better things to do.” Derek’s tone was bordering on vicious. Much like when he and Stiles had first met.

“Pardon, Highness. But are introductions not in order?” The man raised his head. Training his eyes towards Stiles. Those eyes that held a thousand unspoken questions.

“Stiles this is Alan Deaton. The emissary to the Hale pack, and the royal family as a whole. Deaton, this is Stiles. My….The one that my mother assigned to me.”

Stiles bowed respectfully, acknowledging that the man in front of him was of a higher station. As he did so, he wondered why Derek had paused over his words. Why he found difficulty in saying the most obvious of things. Stiles was just a simple servant. That was all, and nothing.

Like when he was in the war meetings, or in the room with members of parliament, Stiles finds a corner. And he stays there. Making himself small and staying out of the way. Namely, because this man, Deaton, made him nervous. He had never met another person, apart from his mother, that had magic. And he did not know if the man could tell that he had magic as well. If he didn’t, he certainly wanted to keep that information private.

He tries his best to tune the both of them out. Their conversation none of his concern. Derek’s tone never changes the entirety that they are there. It’s unruly, bordering on hostile. He does _not_ like this man. Not in the slightest. Stiles assumes that the only reason that he’s here is out of a sense of duty and curtesy.

When it’s clear that their conversation is done, Derek all but stomps his way out of the room. Stiles bows towards Deaton in goodbye. Quickly trailing behind the thoroughly perturbed alpha. Much to his surprise, they head straight towards the dining hall. Stiles would have assumed, given his temperament, that Derek would have went straight back towards his quarters.

Most of his family is already there. Chatting amongst themselves. Saying nothing of any real importance. Stiles takes his place by Derek’s side. As he did every time they ate in the dining hall. Much to his surprise, he is forcibly seated by Peter. The man shoves a chair beneath him, sitting him down next to the prince. Which felt all too casual and all too improper. Even still, Stiles knew better than to protest. Peter was playing a game, and he did not have to the strength to defy the man. Nor would he do so in front of present company.

The meal is served with the same level of revelry that Stiles has come to know. Even if they were royals, werewolves had an energy about them. Regardless of social standing and predispositions, they were a lively bunch. Especially since Erica was here. She was sitting next to Boyd. One hand draped over his arm. Casually taking a portion of his space. The gears in his head clicked and he smiled a small little smile.

The reason that she had drug him to try on dresses and gather his opinion. She was trying to work her confidence. Trying to make herself pretty and presentable. Apparently, the usually reserved and shy Boyd had accepted. As, even though they were pack mates, this level of affection, in public, was not displayed. He felt himself be happy for them. That is, until that dreadful feeling returned.

This time, his entire body shuddered terribly. He could feel the color drain from his face as a chill creeped up his spine. When he woke this morning, the sensation had been uncomfortable. Now…Now he was afraid. Afraid of whatever this thing was. His magic hissed at the back of his mind. Thrashing about. Shouting a warning.

He tried desperately, frantically to find what was causing this awful feeling. It had to be close. Given the extremeness of his reaction. His eyes darted to and fro. All around the dining hall. Looking, searching for the thing, or person, that felt so…wrong.

There was nothing. Not one thing that he noticed. There were no new faces. Nothing that seemed out of place or that it didn’t belong. That is, until he got to the queen. She was perfectly fine. Regal looking as ever. Engaged in conversation with Laura. It was not her that Stiles felt the nastiness from. It was, of all things, a teacup. A fine thing. Pale, thing, and beautifully painted. But there was something about it. Something that set his teeth on edge. And then he realized what it was.

His magic hissed louder. Louder and louder and louder. Until all the noise in the greatness of the hall seemed to vanish. The teacup, to anyone else, would have seemed perfectly ordinary. Nothing wrong. But Stiles had been taught of magic by his mother. Of what it looked like and what it felt like. This was magic. This was indeed magic. But it was…wrong. Hateful. Vengeful. Angry. This was a curse. And the queen had just picked up the cup.

“Stiles…Are you okay?” Derek’s words barely reached him. They seemed small, and out of focus. Disconnected and bent out of shape. He was moving before he could even think.

His jolting upright, and sprinting across the hall was unexpected. Therefore, no one reacted. No one tried to stop him. When he smacks the cup from the queen’s hand, it smashed against the floor several feet away. Shattering to pieces. The ring of its destruction feels like a cannon going off. His fingers burn. No one moves. No one breathes. Then, he is being pinned to the ground by one of the guards. He wonders if they’re going to kill him.

To his amazement, they, in fact, did not. He was, however, ungraciously dragged from the dining hall as voices were raised. Stiles didn’t have time to explain why he did what he did. Nor did he assume that he was going to get it. What he did get, was a trip the dungeons in the south wing of the palace. It was not as terrible as he imagined a dungeon to be. It was clean. Dark, but clean. The guards dump him in a cell, leaving without another word.

At the very least, he was alive. For the moment anyway. He wonders just how painful his punishment would be. Lashes were horrible. He had seen thieves punished that way back home. Their flesh and blood rendered from their backs. What he had done would be seen as a direct assault on the queen. And that, as far as he knew, warranted execution.

Time seemed to drag. There were no windows and he had no way to gauge how long he had been here. He wondered just what everyone was doing. Just how they were reacting to his actions. What they thought of it. What they thought of him. Were they angry? Did they want vengeance for his disrespect? He had done his best to do his job, and stay under the radar. That had gone entirely down the drain. He wondered how long he had left to live.

He hadn’t even had time to be hungry before the bars of his cell were opened. Peter Hale entered in a dangerous way. Much like a cat would when stalking a rodent. His face was placid, and serene. But Stiles was not fooled or conned into believing that he was, in any way, safe. His magic hissed at the man’s anger. The only reason that he wasn’t truly and entirely afraid was because Deaton stood just a few feet behind him.

“Hello Stiles.”

“Hello, sire.” It was the most bland and unremarkable exchange of greetings. He had no illusion that Peter’s usual attitude would be present in this encounter.

“I would like to ask you some questions, as what you did in the dining hall has quite a few people upset. And rightfully so, given that you assaulted the queen of this country.”

Stiles swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He had to tell the truth. Werewolves could, quite literally, hear a lie. That’s what he had always been told in the stories. That’s what he had always been told to fear. Peter certainly wasn’t going to be an exception to that. He knew that he would have to tell them that he had magic. He would have to reveal his secret.

“I suppose I should start with the obvious, why did you smack my sister’s hand?”

“Her…Cup, sire. It was cursed. I…I don’t know what kind. Only that is…nasty.” Stiles didn’t bother to try and hide anything. It wouldn’t have done him any good.

“And, pray tell, how did you detect the curse. Because Deaton was dining with us and he said nothing. And I assure you, he is not the traitorous type.”

Stiles did not bother explaining. As words would not have done much good to anyone. Rather, he showed them. When the fire forms on the tips of his fingers, Peter visibly flinches back. Stunned and afraid. Yes, the man was afraid. Truly, afraid. Of Stiles and the fact that he had magic. And so easily used it.

“I have magic in my blood, sire. I always have, since I was born. And it was my magic that told me. That nasty feeling that came from the cup. And that no good would come of it if the queen drank from it.”

Peter’s eyes flashed an icy blue. A dangerous color. Stiles knew, at this point, the fact that he was still alive was a miracle. The man looked as if he wanted to rip his head off. Why he hadn’t, Stiles didn’t know. Nor did he have time to think about it. As Deaton came pushing past Peter, grabbing Stiles’ hand into his own. Eyes transfixed on the tiny flame that he had produced. Wide with something that was a mix between fascination and curiosity.

“Impossible. That’s…Not possible. No incantation. No motion. No ritual. No materials. Just…magic.” Deaton’s words made no sense to Stiles. But they seemed to make sense to Peter.

“Alan, what you’re saying is…”

“That this young man has more power than the entirety of every magic user currently employed in the palace.”

Stiles was rather very confused. Given that he had been discarded from this conversation entirely. Deaton was still holding onto his hand. Admiring the little flame that he had made. It was a simple thing. Small reds and oranges. With just the slightest tinge of yellow at the edges.

“Sire, I do believe this warrants further investigation. As, if I am correct, Stiles is not only adept at using magic, but detecting it. Which means that, he is in fact, telling the truth.”

Peter did not make a comment. Nor did he make any gestures that denoted his anger. Instead, he left. Without so much as acknowledging Stiles. Deaton releases his hand, bowing his head curtly. Dismissing himself. Stiles wondered just what had happened. Given that he had expected to die. Instead, he was alive. For the moment anyway. How much longer that stayed true, remained to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was painful. Next chapter, Stiles learns how unusual his abilities are. And Derek comes to terms with what he has learned. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, some people have asked about what 'time' period this fic is set in. I am, by no means, a political historian. Not by a long shot. So, in light of that, I would describe it as post Renaissance Italy but pre-revolutionary France. That strange time where absolute monarchies in western Europe where on the decline. And the rise of 'Parliaments' were becoming more commonplace. In essence, where the rise of a true democracy was beginning to form. If that confuses anyone, I apologize. 
> 
> Now, this chapter is mostly about Stiles' inner reflections and his fears. But there is a brief moment, several actually, that are of importance. As always, please pay attention.

Stiles stayed in the dungeons for another three days. He only had a sense of the time because of the person who brought him his meals. They were always delivered in an orderly fashion, and he never saw their face. They did not speak. Or do anything other than what they had been assigned to do. He did not find it in himself to be angry, or discontent. In fact, in gave him plenty of time to be alone with his thoughts.

For the most part, he wonders if he’s going to make it of this alive. For three days no one but the servant who brings him food has come by. He wonders if they’re deliberating his death. And if so, what manner of execution they would employ. Stiles could only hope it would be quick and merciful. They guillotine was popular. Or so he had heard. Instant beheading seemed like a rather painless way out. Hanging…that was his worst fear. That, and being burned at the stake. But, according to most people, that hadn’t been done in years.

He also thought of Derek. And the others. Of Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Of what they were doing. And how they were faring. No doubt they knew by now that he had magic. That he was one of those people. Those people with old things in their blood. He wondered how they felt about his actions. About what he had done. And how they felt about how he had been thrown in the dungeons.

There was….There was something close to friendship. Something that was more than their relationship as servant and served. Derek especially. The two of them were…something. They had an understanding that was more than servant and prince. He wondered how that would be affected now that his secret was out. Now that he was under suspicion. Now that he had, by definition, assaulted the queen.

Just as he was getting too far down in his thoughts, the door to his cell opened. The man standing there, was not the one he was expecting. Derek had looked better. The prince was handsome in a classical way. Stiles had always heard that he was fawned over by the ladies of the nobility. How they whispered amongst themselves and told salacious stories. This was not the same man they so easily gossiped about.

There were dark lines underneath his eyes. A sign of weariness and exhaustion. A sign that he was not sleeping. He even looked, well, thinner. If only by a bit. A shadow of stubble peppered his usually clean shaven face. He had not bathed in the time that Stiles had been here. As Derek always shaved after a bath. He wondered just what had been torturing him so.

“Greetings, Highness. How may I be of service?” Stiles did not try and pretend that their relationship was the same. Not after he did what he did. Not after his secret had been discovered. There wouldn’t have been any good to do so.

“I…I need to ask you some questions.”

“Please, Highness. Feel free.” Stiles wondered and he wondered and he wondered again. Just what kind of man stood before him now. Certainly not the one that was in the dining hall several days ago. But not the man who he first met either.

“You have magic. That’s what Peter and Deaton had said. Were you born with it?”

“Yes, Highness. From the time I was a lad. I’ve always been able to do small things. Mend things. Heal things. So on. Nothing special.”

Derek’s hands tensed. It seemed that he was having trouble staying entirely human. Stiles thought he saw the man’s eyes twinge red for the briefest of seconds. Only just. His magic told him that Derek was upset. Not afraid, or angry. But upset. Over what, Stiles didn’t know.

“Your magic, it told you that my mother’s teacup was cursed. That’s why you did…that?”

“Yes, Highness. I had felt something…nasty. When I realized where it was coming from, I acted without thinking.” Stiles, like with Peter, did not bother lying, or altering, or fabricating. Dishonesty would not bode well for him. Not here.

“And you had nothing to do with the curse being placed on the cup?”

“No, Highness. I did not.”

“Have you ever heard of, met, or acted with a woman named Kate Argent. Or any member of her family?”

That was an odd question. To say the least. Stiles expected to be asked and drilled about his magic. Why he kept it so secret. So and so forth. The question that Derek had asked…it came as a surprise. Namely, because Stiles had never heard of this woman, or her family. In any story or gossip amongst the servants.

“No, Highness. I’ve never heard the name, let alone met who it belongs to.”

Derek does not say anything else. Instead, he motions for Stiles to stand and follow him. He does so, without comment or any other questions. Much like how when they first met. But without the haughty derision, or foul disposition.

Once they are cleared of the dungeons, Derek takes off. Opposite of Stiles. He does not have time to follow the alpha as he is entrapped in a bone crushing hug. Erica had not changed in the days that he had spent in the dungeons. But she had clearly missed him. Given how tightly she was squeezing him. The she-wolf rubbed her face along his neck as he felt his spine groan in distress.

“Madam…Can’t…BREATHE!” Erica wasn’t paying all that much attention. Given how Boyd had to extract her off of him. Much like how Derek had done when the two of them first met.

“Forgive her. She’s been wanting to see you ever since they carted you off.” Boyd smiles softly. Even if he is not as affectionate as Erica, (not by a longshot), he too, was happy to see Stiles.

“Pardon, but I don’t believe they allow prisoners to be visited. I assure you, you wouldn’t have wanted to once you got down there.”

“Of course we would. You’re…” Erica was cut off by a stern growl from Boyd. The she-wolf shrunk down midsentence. Silence by the display.

“Regardless, you’re in desperate need of a bath. Use the chambers meant for us, and tell the servants I sent you.”

Boyd leaves without another word. Dragging Erica, (literally, he was dragging her), along with him. As they left, Stiles wondered where Isaac was. Then he remembered, that out of all of them, Isaac liked him the least. In hindsight, he supposed it didn’t matter all that much anyway. He was more focused on the fact that he had been wearing the same clothes for days, and was unbathed. At a certain point, one could start to smell oneself. And he was rather ready to be rid of that sensation.

He passes by several other servants as he heads towards the private bathing chambers. Each and every one of them quicken their pace. Hurrying themselves as he walks past. He can tell that they’re afraid. And he didn’t even need his magic to tell him so. Stiles may not have been the smartest of lads, but he knew gossip flew like the pox. No doubt, the entire palace knew of what he had done, and what he could do.

The chamber maids squeal when he enters. But do not try and flee. He smiles gently, informing him that Boyd had sent him with personal permission. They excuse themselves when the water is heated. He was very much capable of bathing himself. And did not need distressed maids trying to help him. One advantage of the chambers, was the selection of soaps and perfumes.

He was able to choose from a great variety of them. The scent of lavender and honeysuckle wafting up into the air in small circles as he submerged himself in the tub. The sensation was so heavenly, he thought he might fall asleep. And he damn near did. The only reason he didn’t, was because he knew what came next.

Derek had come to see him. He was asked several questions, and then released to do as he pleased. So that meant, at the very least, he wasn’t going to be executed. Which was good. Given that he had a vested interest in staying alive. But that did not mean that he was completely in the clear. He still had magic, and was in the palace. The royal family could do as they pleased with him. And the ideas that came to mind were less than pleasant.

When he finishes the bath, Stiles dresses himself from the clothes available in the wardrobe. Most of them are obviously Boyd’s. Given the color and size. Of which none would fit Stiles. Thankfully, there were a few for Isaac. Stiles slipped the clothes on, hoping that the wolf would not be angry at him commandeering his clothing. Just as he finished, another servant came in. directing him to follow her.

Like with the others, her eyes are kept to the floor. She does not speak, and he does not ask questions. He doesn’t know where he’s being taken, nor who summoned him. It didn’t matter. At this point, he was having to play all things by ear. That’s how he managed most of his life so far, and there wasn’t really any better options at this point.

When they arrive at their destination, the nameless servant scampers off. Saying nothing as she goes. Her fear sends a shiver down his spine. There was a moment of hesitation as he reached to open the door in front of him. When he enters, the people waiting for him are who he expected.

The queen, firstly. Along with Peter. Princess Laura was something a surprise. But given that she was due to inherit the throne, it wasn’t too far out there. The main surprise, was Deaton. Given that he had no authority to punish him. Or anything of a similar nature. And as Stiles thought about it, he didn’t even know what an emissary was for. Not that he could ask anyone.

“Stiles, please come in.” The queen’s voice is soft and supple. Welcoming, and non-threatening. Stiles could detect no malice from her.

He sits in a chair, saying nothing. Peter, shockingly, serves him a cup of tea. Much like he did when they had their private conversations. And he did so in front of the queen and the princess. With no regard that he was serving a commoner in front of two high ranking members of the royal family. The man seemed…unsettled. But otherwise fine.

“I must apologize for your mistreatment. We were all so shocked that there wasn’t a lot of time to consider much of anything else. And now that we know the truth of the matter…..I truly am sorry, Stiles.”

“The truth, Majesty?”

“The cup was indeed cursed. More so, it had been cursed with a magic meant to conceal. Specifically, to conceal the scent and taste of wolfsbane. Which the tea had been laced with. Had you not smacked the cup away, my sister would not be here at this moment.”

Stiles felt his heart drop into his stomach, and his skin go cold. The curse was one thing. But wolfsbane…that was another matter entirely. Given that it was one of the only poisons on the face of creation that could harm and or kill a werewolf. And someone had slipped it into the queen’s tea. He had, unknowingly, foiled an assassination attempt.

“Needless to say, there will be no consequences for your actions. In fact, I’ve decided to reward you. Even if my sister is reluctant.”

“Peter, the boy has magic. An exceedingly rare talent. It’s difficult enough to keep this private. Showering the boy solves nothing. The House of Parliament is already making enough noise.”

Stiles was surprised that the two of them were bickering amongst themselves. Given the gravity of the situation. He was even more surprised when Deaton cleared his throat. Disengaging the two royals from the continuation which, also surprisingly, worked.

“The matter aside, on behalf of myself, my family, and this country, thank you. As Peter said, had you not smacked away that cup, I would not be here.”

Stiles doesn’t know what else to do, so, he bows. He bows until a hand rests upon his shoulder. When he raises his head, he sees the queen. Standing in front of him, eyes wide and glistening with tears. Even though she has no reason to cry. At least, Stiles doesn’t think she does. Even after all these weeks, he still hasn’t gotten used to the fact that he’s been embraced by royals.

“Majesty, if I may conduct the testing I requested.” Deaton interrupted their small, unknowable moment. She smiles softly, retreating back to her seat.

The man approaches Stiles with a sense of caution. Unlike the queen, his eyes are weary. And alive with concern. And maybe, just maybe, the slightest touch of fear. He produces a crystal ball, (yes, an actual crystal ball), and instructs Stiles to hold it. Which he does. And nothing happens. Not one single thing. Then, something does.

When he first grabbed it, the object felt cool to the touch. After a few seconds, it felt warm. Comforting in a way. Then, it turned pitch black. As if all the light had gone from the world. As if there was no world left. It started to thrum. It thrummed so much that it actually started to make his hands go numb. He didn’t have time to say anything before it shattered apart. Breaking into an incalculable amount of pieces. Glass raining down onto the floor.

“Good lord, what the hell was that about!?” Peter was afraid now. His eyes were that cold blue. The one that made Stiles feel small.

“As I suspected, Stiles is unique. To say the least. His magic is both tremendous and versatile. I suspect we now know why you were all so uncomfortable around him. Had the boy been trained properly, he could have level the palace if he so chose.”

That was…well…ridiculous. Stiles had never once, in all of his nineteen years, used his magic for destructive purposes. Ever. Not even when he got into fights when he was younger. Or during hunting season. All he had ever used his magic for was to mend things. That was it. Like his mother, he used his magic to help people.

“So we essentially have a state grade weapon walking around the halls. The Minster of War is going to be quite difficult to refuse. Suggestions, Sister?”

The queen looked as if she had smelled something foul. Face scrunched in an unfortunate way. Stiles felt his heart leap into his throat. He wondered, now that he escaped death and possible mutilation, what now laid in store for him. Given the fact that Deaton was proclaiming him to be a force of nature.

“Stiles is a free citizen of this country. And if the Minister of War, the Naval Cabinet, or even the House of Parliament wants to play for power, we shall shut them down. Fiercely. We are still the royal family, and I will not see a child be used for war. We’ve had enough of that.”

He knew that she was referring to that unnamed event. The thing that had caused Derek to suffer. At the very least, he had the queen on his side. That was something, and Peter wasn’t anything to turn one’s nose up at either. Stiles still felt that the man was a menacing individual. Even on a good day.

“Pardon, Majesty, but why not make Stiles my successor? He certainly has the latent ability. And if I may say, his mere presence would be able to turn the tables of any negotiations. That is, if he so chooses.”

All three of them turned towards Stiles. Eyes alight with what he would choose. He had no idea what he would be trained in. Nor what he would be negotiating for should he accept. The details were definitely needed. As he had no real desire to be a political official. That being said…the idea of it wasn’t entirely all that bad. Given that he would be a person of station. And people of that kind of station made a considerably amount of money. Of which he needed. It was the entire reason he had come to the capital in the first place.

As much as Deaton unnerved him, as well as the idea of being trained by him, the amount of money he could make was astounding. Compared to what he could have made back home. Hell, he would probably make several times what his father did. And he was a lawman.

“Majesty, if I may ask. I do have some conditions, and some questions.” Stiles tried not to sound ungrateful. But he did want to know what he was getting into to.

“Of course, Stiles. If it is in my power to grant, I will ensure that you receive it.”

“I would…I would like my family to come and live in the capital with me. If I am to be working here long term that is. They are the reason I came here in the first place.”

The queen smiled a gentle smile. Her eyes were no longer glistening with tears. She set to make the arrangements. Given that they would be bringing his father, Scott, his mother, and Lydia. There was also the fact that Stiles’ father was a lawman, and would need to be replaced. Other than that, it would be fairly straightforward. For which he was grateful.

“Is there anything else, Stiles? I would be more than happy to accommodate any requests.”

“Yes, Majesty. I was wondering, how much does the position pay?”

There was a tense moment of silence. Everyone seemed to have stopped breathing. Then, Peter was laughing. Loud and raucous. Completely unbecoming of a royal. Laura, regal and composed Laura, covered her mouth to stifle of snicker. Even Deaton, who was the embodiment of stone faced placidity, chuckled. It seemed, despite his worst fears, everything was going to be okay. Hopefully, it would stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun and terrifying and, at points, illuminating. Next chapter, Derek's demons come back to haunt him. And he will deal with the issues that everyone has been asking about. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just one ball of Derek's particular brand of angst. There are some important details. They're brief, but important. Have fun.

Derek was, in a word, unsettled. The last week and half had been…eventful. Enlightening in ways, and detrimental in others. He was an emotional, wrought mess of nerves that had no rest. Even his own betas could not comfort him. They to, were under duress. Dealing with the outfall of what had happened was causing all of them stress.

When Stiles was taken to the dungeons, he desperately, against all that breathed, wanted to follow. To scream and shout and curse. To ask why the servant had done what he had done. Which was flagrantly, and openly assault his mother, the queen. Which, by definition, could earn him the sentence of execution. Hopefully, they could discover the means to what he had done, and illuminate the cause. And save him from that fate. What his uncle and Deaton did discover, was far more monumental than any of them could have imagined.

Stiles had magic. He was, in fact, a person born with magic. According to Deaton anyway. When Peter had gone and questioned him, he had confessed as such. That his magic had ‘told’ him that the cup was cursed. And that he had done what he had because he knew that it would end with something horrible. This was confirmed when Stiles produced a small flame on his fingertips. That part seemed to intrigue Deaton the most.

He was beyond fascinated. Given that such things were not possible. Magic could do a great deal many things. Could bend the heavens. Shake mountains. Boil seas. If one believed such exaggerations. But there were rules. Magic had limitations and did not come from nothing. Apparently, Stiles had summoned the flames exactly in that way. From nothing. And that’s scared the hell out of all of them.

After learning the truth, Derek lost control. Truly lost control for the first time in a long time. He tore off into the forest. Tearing his clothes from his form. Howling at a godless sky. Never expecting an answer. He stayed in the woods for nearly a day. Trying, desperately trying, to keep the horror of his memories from surfacing. It was not successful.

He was reminded of Kate. Her silver tongue. The sweetness of her skin. The smell of her hair. And all the lies that came with it. The lies and the deceit and the betrayal. Betrayal that he had been conned into believing. Believing until it was too late. A war broke out, and his men died. A country nearly toppled. All because he was blinded. Even though his family assured him that he was not at fault, that she had used trickery, Derek certainly felt responsible.

He does not sleep. He barely eats. He does not attend any of his meetings. This continues for three days. Until, after stifling his anger and his fear, he damn near tears the door off of its hinges. Stampeding towards the dungeons where Stiles was still being held. Erica and Boyd were not far behind him. He orders them to stay out. As he needed, wanted to do this alone.

Stiles looks no worse for wear. In fact, he seemed oddly at peace. Given the current state of him. Unlike Derek, who was practically falling apart at the seams. He stands there, taking in the scent that he had come to know. And oddly enough, he felt no fear. Even knowing that Stiles had magic, and his past experiences, he felt nothing remotely close to fear. In fact, he felt…relief.

He asked the obvious. More than obvious, he asked the necessary. Stiles does not lie. Derek made sure to listen to his heart. To count each and every one of its beats. He does not lie. He does not try and deceive. He answers truthfully. Then, he leaves. Stomping back towards his room. Leaving Stiles to do as he pleases. He had been locked up long enough.

The discovery of the curse on the cup, as well as the poison it was helping to conceal, made things all the more hectic. The House of Parliament was in a frenzy. They were still dealing, to some extent, of the aftermath of Deucalion’s attempted usurpation. An attempted assassination of the country’s queen helped nothing. Neither did the fact that the one who foiled it was a servant assigned to the prince, who, above everything else, was magically gifted.

Derek, after so much loathing and self-hatred, took himself to the bathing chambers. Scrubbing away dirt and pain and madness. He dressed himself. He took his meals in the dining hall. And he went to his meetings. They had enough to deal with without his melancholy. He would talk with Stiles another time. If that time ever came.

His mother informs him, after things have calmed down, that Stiles is to be absolved of any wrongdoing. Parliament was appeased, to a point, and they could focus on other, more important matters. Namely, the fact that Stiles was now a point of interest to not only Parliament, but other parties of government. There was also the matter of finding the perpetrators of the would be assassination. Of which they had no clues. All they knew was that the cup had been cursed, and laced with poison.

Derek worked with his sisters as much as he could. Stiles was a commoner of low birth. He had no wealth, land, or standing. As such, the perfect target for jumpstarts wanting a little more leeway and progress in their political leanings. His own trauma aside, Derek would not stand by and watch as his country’s government exploited an innocent man. Not after the debt he owed Stiles. That all of them owed.

He was considering how to repay that debt. The amount that would equivocate to saving his mother’s life. The queen. Stiles had said that he came to the capital to earn more money for his family. Derek had more gold than any man could ever hope to spend. Coffers and coffers of it. As it so happened, Peter had already secured that avenue. Wherein he gave Stiles an undisclosed, but sizable amount of money. His mother had also given ample reward.

Given the nature of his inclinations, Stiles was to be trained as Deaton’s successor. According to the man, he was aptly suited for it. Given his latent power. As an added bonus, Stiles’ family would be coming to live in the capital. Which was what brought Derek to today. Preparing for the arrival. There was plenty of room in the palace for them to rest. Until other, more private accommodations could be secured.

He finds himself dressed to the nines. For no other reason that he wanted to. There was an odd desire to look presentable. Despite him being a prince and the people he would be greeting were of no actual station. Regardless, the urge to look the part was damn near overwhelming. It was an odd thing to think about. He opted to not think about it at all.

The carriage arrives in the later part of the afternoon. Laura is there with him. Cora, never one for decorum, chose not to attend their arrival. Stiles may have saved their mother’s life, but they were by no means friends. And the young princess had a great dislike of strangers. Of any variety.

Allison Argent and her father lead the procession into the palace. The two of them had been entrusted with the transportation of the aforementioned party. And true to their name, they did so successfully and without any notable incident. Even after the madness that Kate and Gerard had caused, they were still a standing family. If a diminished one.

There are two men, and two women. Four accompanied to the capital. The first gentleman, Derek instantly recognizes as Stiles’ father. The man is greyed at the edges. With wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He has seen his years, and the nature of his position had taken its toll. If he remembered correctly, Stiles’ father was a lawman. A rather testing profession. As people always had trouble to cause.

The man that follows behind is Stiles’ age. He’s all bronze skin and dark, floppy hair. Derek can smell his anxiety from here. Clearly, he was not exactly enthralled to be in the capital. Let alone the royal palace. No doubt he felt out of place. The woman behind him rests a hand on his shoulder. His is very clearly his mother, and in no relation to Stiles. She has the same bronze skin and dark hair as her son.

The fourth one, the last one, was something a surprise. She is also Stiles’ age. With luscious strawberry hair. Derek nearly took her for a noble. What with the way she carried herself. There is no trace of fear in her. Not even the slightest hint of anxiety. She stands tall and proud. Unflinching. Derek had to admire that kind of nerve.

Greetings are exchanged, and the procession moves forward. The four of them settle into the dining hall for a much needed meal. Derek sends a servant off to go and fetch Stiles. Who would no doubt be wanting to see his family. In the meantime, they make small, idle talk. Simple things.

His father, John, is happy to be in the capital with his son. Even if he wasn’t being relocated, he was on the verge of retirement. He was of that age, and his body was not like it used to be. Scott, the young man, was a stableman. Or rather, horses were his specialty. He worked with all manner of animals, and by his own admission, was rather good at it.

His mother, Melissa, was a woman of medicine. A difficult business to be in for a woman. As doctors were a vicious, traditional lot. They hated change or breaking with their insipid standards. A woman working among men was certainly a break. Derek felt as if she would have no trouble acclimating to the capital.

Lydia, the fiery young woman, was a daughter to textile merchants. She was better off than most in her home. She was also learned. Odd for a woman of her station. But Derek could tell behind those bright green eyes was a razor sharp wit. Here in the capital, she could have access to all manner of studies. Hell, the palace had its own library. One could study there for several lifetimes.

It wasn’t long before Stiles came bursting in. which he did. The far doors to the dining hall swung open, and the man nearly tripped over his own feet. His exuberance nearly getting the best of him. He did not bother with decorum or formality. He ran straight towards his father. Encasing the man in a shameless hug. Derek felt his heart pull in his chest. It felt…odd. That he would seem almost jealous of Stiles’ father being embraced like that.

“You need to talk to him.”

Laura had come to stand beside him. Eyes pensive and gazing into a place that Derek could not follow. She often looked like that these days. Most days actually. She was first in line to the throne. And as such, had more responsibility than any of them. It wore on her in a way that Derek had no comparison for. Being the one to inherit a country…he could only imagine.

“Let him have this moment. He’s been antsy for over a week now.”

“He’s your pack, Derek. Even if he doesn’t see it, and you won’t admit it, he is your pack. Be it by accident, or otherwise, that young man is here for the foreseeable future. And that means you need to talk to him. Soon, preferably. Given that he will be your emissary one day.”

Derek bit his tongue to keep from saying something that he shouldn’t. His sister, despite how much he wanted to find fault with her, was right. Stiles was training directly under Deaton. With the purpose of becoming the man’s successor. He would, upon the man’s death or retirement, effectively be the emissary for the entirety of the Hale family. Specifically, the alphas. Of which Derek was one of.

The thought of it made him uncomfortable. Even more so at the idea, (see fact), that Stiles was pack. Because he was. It happened slowly, and without presence. Stiles, since his arrival, had integrated himself into Derek’s life. The way that he was surpassed that of just another servant. He was…good. Good beyond measure. He still talked too much, and his level of sarcasm was infuriating at times. But he was good.

The first time he scent marked the man was after the full moon they spent together. Derek hadn’t even been paying attention. Hadn’t even thought about it. Next thing he knew, he was brushing himself against the other man. A soft, barely there touch. Stiles, thankfully, was entirely human, and was raised around humans. And was therefore none the wiser. The deed was done. Setting off a chain reaction.

The others, in their own way, marked him as well. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Hell, even Laura had done it once or twice. It was an unconscious reaction to the alpha’s scent. Stiles never paid any mind, and he never said anything. Slowly, but surely, Derek came to view him more than a servant. He came to view him as pack. Which was a strange thing to think about.

He detested magic users. Kate’s actions had seen to that. Ever since her, he had felt uneasy and, at times, angry around them. Even though he had known Deaton for years, the scar of her betrayal ran deep. And he was unable to help his reaction. It’s why he was so unnerved by Stiles’ presence when he first arrived. Why they all were. Why he smelled like such a threat. Because, in essence, he was.

Deaton had tested his magic, and come to one, irrefutable conclusion. Wherein Stiles was exceptionally rare. The amount of power he had bordered on absurd. People like him died out with the Dark Ages. Having been killed in wars, or simply choosing not to further their own lines. To not burden their children with their gifts. Or in many cases, their curses.

No one like Stiles had been seen in centuries. Not in their country anyway. That’s why they all, on some instinctual level, felt a shiver of fear when he walked in the room. That was no longer the case. Even though the man had been here only a few short months, Derek felt now fear in his presence. That electric edge, that lightning bolt tang to his scent no longer felt threatening. If anything, it only made him smell all that more enticing.

It was a strange thing to think about. Seeing him as pack. Watching him, seeing him in that way. And it wasn’t entirely all that ridiculous. Because he had witnessed firsthand of how Stiles was. He was human, but respected their boundaries as wolves. He never rose above his station. He never interfered. But he always a shoulder in one needed it. The simplest things. The easy things. The things that no one ever really thought about.

Derek was somewhat mesmerized by the audacity of it all. How, after months upon months of self-hatred and isolation, this one, remarkable human had made a difference. It was astounding in a way. Terrifying in another. He had no idea what to do. Because….Because maybe Stiles was more than pack. That was the thing that scared him beyond measure. That made his blood run cold. That he felt…more.

Stiles was a human commoner. Derek was an alpha werewolf prince. Even if the other man was to be their emissary, thus raising his station, they would never be equals. Not in that way. Not in the way that society expected of a mated pair. The House of Parliament would raise ten levels of hell. The various ministers. All of them. Derek Hale, infatuated with a commoner. They wouldn’t even care that it was a man.

He hated it. He hated how every feeling he had seemed to be tainted. That Kate had stolen any certainty from him. That is heart seemed cracked and broken beyond repair. That anything he could have wanted would never be able to happen. He wanted Stiles…as pack. And maybe, if the heavens were kind, more than that. Though, he didn’t exactly know what ‘that’ was. Not yet anyway.

Stiles embraces all of his family. Laughing merrily was he does so. Derek had yet to see him smile like that. That simple, easy thing that meant that someone was home. That they were here, and they wouldn’t be anywhere else. For anyone. He was truly happy. Derek wondered if he could provide that kind of happiness. If he could make Stiles smile like that.

Their introduction wasn’t exactly enthralling. Or pleasant. Or even remotely polite. In fact, up until the full moon, Stiles and Derek seemed to only tolerate one another. There was far more tension, (the bad kind), between them than harmony. Regardless, Derek felt the urge to be close to the man. To have him know what it meant to be pack. To explore the possibilities beyond that reality. To know him. Not as a servant, not as a potential emissary, but as a person. As Stiles.

That was a daunting thing to consider. Given that, up until recently, he had tried to find any and every excuse to dismiss the man. Now, here they were. After a foiled assassination attempt. A secret revealed. And an emotionally stunted alpha that clung to the past with a unrelenting terror. One that prevented him from moving forward. But he did want to move forward. He just didn’t know how.

Derek watches Stiles as he talks with his father. With his family. He had been asked to keep the most obvious details to himself. Such as the queen’s attempted assassination. Or that he was directly responsible for foiling it. He was permitted to tell them that he was being trained as the next Hale emissary. And that the position afforded a great deal of station, as well as money.

They are all overjoyed at the news. And at their reunion. Derek smiles to himself. Happy that they are happy. There was a small twinge at the back of his brain. Stiles was pack, and therefore, by extension, so were these people. Derek could feel his wolf rumble with joy at the new additions. Even if it defied any logical sense or reason. There were a lot of things that seemed along those lines these days. Given that had happened, and all that lay before them, he opted not to care of the strangeness. He had better things to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was enlightening. Next chapter, Stiles learns magic. And that people, even the good ones, have an agenda. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer than my average word count, but there is a purpose. We're moving along people.

Stiles had greatly expected the experience of learning magic to be more….well….interesting. When he was a lad, his mother taught him what she had learned from her mother. Small things. Simple things. They had a wiliness that lived in their fingers. A cleverness. A sense of knowing what to do before they did themselves. He loved every minute of it. What he did not love, was how Deaton approached things. Which was in the drollest manner known to man.

Given that Stiles’ father was a lawman, he was better educated than most. At the very least, he could read and write. Which was leaps and bounds better than other young men and women his age. Most parents could not afford the educational costs it took to ensure that their children were learned. If by some small chance that a commoner of the labor class could afford it, they often saw no need for it. Given that they worked with their hands, and little else.

Stiles was educated to that, and not much beyond. There was some minor skill in arithmetic as well. (He had Lydia to thank for that.) Other than that, he had no real need for a formal education. That changed with Deaton. The man was not a bad teacher. Just a boring one. Given that the first three weeks of anything that Stiles did was read. And read. And read. And read some more. Endless reading.

Deaton, the bastard, was rather pleased. Given that he assumed that he would have to teach Stiles completely from scratch. When he learned that was not going to be the case, he jumped right into the thicket of things. Which was training Stiles on all the formalities of being an officiated emissary of the state. There was plenty of that. Given that he would be serving the royal family directly. Which, as he had time to think about that, the more he felt rather insane on the matter.

Deaton assured him that it would be some time before he was ever placed in any official business or position of note. He himself had trained for five years before his master allowed him to be a part of the true ins and outs of being an emissary. Given that he would be affiliated with the crown, that was to be determined not only be Deaton, but by the king and queen as well.

For the most part, Stiles learns of the traditional roles and functions that an emissary has. Even if he was serving the royal family, the basis of the position remained unchanged. It was the gravity of it that was exponentially different. At the core, emissaries functioned as the ‘human’ element for a pack. They were the tether to humanity, and represented human interest regarding negotiations. It was especially important when dealing not only with other packs, but their human connections as well.

Given that he wanted to move on from the stifling monotony of formality, Stiles learned and learned and he learned some more. Deaton was rather impressed with how quickly he caught onto to things. He didn’t just mindlessly memorize things. He actually took the time to understand the concept of what he was being taught, and how he could best apply it to the task at hand.

After three weeks of this, (thank the heavens), Deaton incorporated lessons on magic. Well, the theoretical principals anyway. The basics of them boiled down to three things. Energy. Means. Intent. The energy one used for magic. The means in which they required the aforementioned energy. And the intent once the energy is obtained. Very simple. Except, in Stiles’ case, things were not so cut and dry.

As Deaton explained it, he was the rarest of the rare. An exception to the basic principles of magic as a whole. Given that he could use his magic by sheer force of will. Or, at times, unconsciously. Which was even more of a dramatic upset. Magic, as the man had explained, could technically do anything. Given that the right perimeters were satisfied. The materials. The rituals. The motion. Everything that anyone would use.

Stiles could use magic without any of that. Which, according to just about every single book out there, should not have been possible. Granted, the only things that he could or ever do were simple and mundane. That, in of itself, was rather comforting. Given that if he had self-taught he could have accidentally blown something up. His mother had only taught him what she knew, and nothing else. He mended things. He fixed things. That was it. He had never used his magic for any other purpose.

Deaton assured him that the practical part of his learning was a ways away. Theory and principal before application. Even though he could circumvent the standard rules did not mean he was exempt from learning them. Stiles understood that well enough. He would like to learn about his magic without causing untold destruction in the process. At the very least, he greatly enjoyed it more than learning the politics of being an emissary.

What he did not enjoy, was being away from the others. His father and the others had arrived in the capital. Which was good. He greatly missed his family, and longed to see them. When they arrived, the queen was gracious in giving them several days to spend amongst themselves. For the most part, everyone was adjusting in rather nicely.

Scott had the most problems. He was not an educated young man. At least, not formally. He could read and write at the basic level. But he had an intuition and sense that wasn’t all that common amongst others of his trade. He was excellent with animals, and had a keen sharpness when it came to their wellbeing. There was also the matter of his affections. Which leaned in an unfortunate direction.

Allison Argent was a singular beautiful young woman, as well as terrifying. Stiles knew that she was a trained warrior. Odd for a woman, but the way she carried herself said enough. She had been the one, along with her father, entrusted to transport Stiles’ father and the others. According to Lydia, Scott had eyes for her the entire journey.

He did not know the details of what the situation for the woman’s family was, but they had lost a considerable amount of their station. Even still, with all the rumors and gossip, she was still, by definition, a noblewoman. And Scott, while skillful and kind, was nowhere near her class. Stiles did not have the standing to even ask to court her. Stiles pointedly ignored the problem, and decided to focus on other things.

Lydia fared better, given that she was a well educated woman. She had all the decorum required to live in a palace full of nobles and royals. Much to Stiles’ immense terror, she and Erica got along astonishingly well. The two of them were as thick as thieves from the get go. There was only a smidgen of concern in that regard.

His father also fit well. Given his past as a lawman, he was both welcomed and respected. On more than a few occasions, several of the guards asked for his advice. Laura saw fit to give him a position on the advisory council for security measures. Given that the job involved use of his words only, he was rather enthused to take the position.

After their grace period, Stiles had started his studies, and he saw less and less of them. As much as it pained him to not be able to see them, Deaton was adamant that he stay focused on his work. He saw less of the others as well. He was no longer a servant to Derek, and therefore, rarely, if ever saw him. He took most of his meals in the dining hall. Which granted some time. But not all that much.

On more than one occasion, Erica had burst into Deaton’s personal quarters. That trademark smile splashed across her face. Mischievous and looking for nothing but trouble. The man handled it with ease. And permitted her presence. So long as she wasn’t overly disruptive. For her, that was a singularly difficult task to endure. All the same, she let Stiles study on the days she stopped by. And was content to simply watch him learn. He appreciated, on certain times, her certain brand of enthusiasm.

He didn’t see Isaac or Boyd as much. The former wasn’t all that much of surprise. Given that they weren’t exactly friends. Boyd, on occasion would accompany Erica on her stay in Deaton’s quarters. But given the man was as silent as stone on an average day, there wasn’t all that much of an issue there. What Stiles did take issue with, was Derek. Or rather, the lack of Derek. Which was a strange thing to think about.

Out of all the wolves, Stiles saw him the least. He had been taking the effort to fully devote himself to his studies. He did not have all that much to devote towards socializing. He knew that when he had started. Given that Deaton had said as much. And for some reason, he had missed Derek most of all. That in of itself, was enough of a head turner.

He and Derek were…something. That was certain. When he had arrived, Stiles did not assume that he would be treated cruelly or unfairly. He was there to a do a job, and nothing else. Their first meeting, and subsequent interactions were tumultuous. But at a certain point, things changed. And they had changed for the better.

Stiles had barely stood on formality with Derek as it stood. Things were strange and unusual and bordering on absurd. But after it was revealed that Stiles had magic, and saved the queen, things got stranger still. Namely, people were touching him. Like, really a lot of touching. He hadn’t noticed it at first. But then, as the weeks went on, it happened more and more.

Whenever he saw Isaac, Erica, Boyd, or Derek, all four of them, in some way, would touch him. It wasn’t bad, or intrusive, or inappropriate. Just…strange. Namely because of the difference in their stations. And the fact that Stiles was not as used to such physical contact. The only people he had ever shared such things with were his family.

Derek was the most forward. Even more so than Erica. (Shockingly.) He was more tactile than the others. And in the brief sections of time they spent together, he occupied Stiles’ space more often than the other three. It was…odd. Good, but odd. Stiles didn’t exactly know how to describe it. Just….good.

He doesn’t talk about it with anyone else. Not that he would have had the time. And he wouldn’t have known what to say regardless. There wasn’t a word that he knew that could adequately equivocate the way he felt. Some part of him knew that he needed to talk to Derek. Another part was absolutely terrified of the idea.

He pushed it the back of his mind, and focused on the tasks before him. Surprisingly, he had a day to himself. Which, for the most part, he spent with himself. Sleeping mostly. That is, until Scott came barreling in the room. Leaping on top of him. Just like when they were but children. They laugh as they did when they were children. It reminds him of home.

The day is slow, and even though he’s supposed to have it to himself, Deaton does want him to meet some of the ministers. Nothing formal or political, but simply the manner of meeting them. Even with the hesitation he felt, given that he finally had time, he agreed. He spent most of the morning with Scott. Just talking and exploring the palace. Its grand marble halls. The tapestries. All of it.

There was plenty to explore. He departs just before lunch. Moving towards the stables. The resident stable master was rather fond of him. Given his affinity for animals. Even after only a few days, Scott had managed to charm even the most resilient and bold headed stallions. He would fit in perfectly.

He takes his lunch in the library with Lydia. The young woman had spent most of her time there. Enjoying the vast array of books and scroll that were readily available. Given that her parents were better off than most, she could afford a formal education. And was far more learned than most people back home. Now, she had access to poetry, philosophy, mathematics, and more. She was absolutely enthralled. Stiles thought she might never leave.

They eat in silence. Roast chicken with fresh goat cheese. Fine, soft breads that had the aroma of herbs wafting as they tore it open. Lydia ate sparsely. More focused on the half dozen tomes in front of her. Careful not to spread crumbs anywhere. Nor grease from the chicken. Stiles was happy that she was here. He was happy that all of them were here.

Halfway through their meal, Stiles hears the sound of footsteps across the floor. Generally speaking, the library was relatively empty at this time of the day. Their visitor was not anyone that Stiles had met. Not officially anyway. He was a young man, around their age. Blonde hair artfully styled. Neatly pressed clothes. Wondrous blue eyes. Which were transfixed on a stack of parchments of which he was fully engrossed. He does not look up from them was he approaches.

“Deaton told me that I needed to speak with you. You are to be his replacement then?”

“Yes, sir. I’m Stiles. I’m currently training under Deaton.” Out of respect he stands, not knowing whether the man was a lord or noble or anything else of the sort. Being Deaton’s apprentice meant that his station was elevated far above that of a simple servant. Still, social courtesy demanded this much.

“Jackson Whittemore, Vice-Minister of the Commonwealth of Beacon. I’m to discuss our relationship and so on…” Jackson’s words trailed off. Breaking into nothingness. Stiles did not have to be a genius as to guess as to why.

Lydia was still reading. Absentmindedly nibbling on a bit of cheese. Paying no attention to either of them. She was not one for social dictation. And rarely bowed or curtsied or anything else expected of a person of her station. The nobles in the palace were ruffled at first. Given that, to them, it was seen in disrespect. But she had a certain charm about her that allowed her to alleviate such transgressions.

“Lydia, introductions. Please.” She was clearly annoyed at Stiles’ interrupting her. But she stood regardless.

“Pleasure to meet you, Vice-Minister. Lydia Martin, at your service.”

Jackson seems stunned, and for some reason, nervous. Stiles’ magic could tell him that much. For what reason, he did not know. Lydia was indeed a willful woman. But she was by no means rude, or nasty, or even all that frightening. She was, when crossed, a force to be reckoned with. But as of yet, Jackson had done nothing more than introduce himself. There was no offense to be had.

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Martin.”

“Please, just Lydia. I am by no means a Lady.” This was not the first time she had corrected someone on the matter. Given her parents trade in cloth and textiles, she had far finer clothes than most back home. That, plus her education, she might as well have been a Lady. But she did not care for the false pleasantries that people assumed because of what they thought they knew.

“Pardon, madam. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve just remembered an important matter to which I must attend.”

The man turns on his heel, quickly retreating as fast as he had come. Stiles felt the gears in his head click, and then it hit him. A mischievous smile spread across his face. He rather felt like Peter in that moment. Looking towards Lydia. Who was, decidedly, less than amused at his expression.

“Don’t you even think about it.”

“A Vice-Minister. A rather good catch. The man was so enamored with you that he couldn’t bear to get his words together.” Stiles had to suppress a laugh as he spoke.

“A fool who sees nothing but my face.”

“One does not make the position of Vice-Minister at that age by being a fool. At least let him try. It would be rather an easy task to discern his intentions.”

“I could say the same for you and you prince.” Lydia walks away without further comment on the matter. Leaving Stiles with a blush creeping along his neck and onto his face.

He had been trying not to think about Derek. Or the ensuing…something between them. Or how he seemed to fit in here as well as he had back home with his family. He tried not to think of a lot of things. Instead, he opted to spend the rest of his free day in his room. Lounging and reading something that had nothing whatsoever to do with his studies. At least, that was the plan.

He was barely halfway to his quarters before he was swept away. A pair of hands grabbed beneath his arms, and pulled away. Had he been anyone else, he would have been terrified. Frightened. Scared for his safety. But his magic told him that these people weren’t not going to hurt him. In fact, they seemed rather afraid themselves.

He didn’t have time to ask questions before he was dragged into the bathing chambers. The servants who had brought him stripped him of his clothing. And wasted no time in dowsing him in ice cold water. They hadn’t taken the time to heat it. They ignore his yelps entirely. Much like when he first arrived he is scrubbed, puffed, primed, and slathered. For what reason he did not know. The answer came as Deaton burst through the doors.

Stiles didn’t bother trying to protect his modesty. He had long since lost it. Being bathed by servants had long since shattered any shyness he possessed. Deaton, much like the servants seemed flustered. Eyes darting over Stiles’ form. Had he been a werewolf, Stiles imagined he would’ve been able to hear the man’s heartbeat hammering away.

When the servants are finished, they promptly retreat. Deaton, surprisingly, was the one to dress him. But rather than an elaborate layering of tunics and expensive looking trousers, he was slung into a fine set of robes. Deep brown and soft to the touch. Much like the man in front of him was wearing.

“Unexpected events have arrived. His Majesty will be here within the hour, and we are…unprepared.”

“Is the king returning such a monumental occasion? I figured everyone would be less, well, panicked.” Stiles was confused. He knew that the king had been away. On what business, no one had said. But he thought the man’s return would have been a joyous occasion.

“Listen very carefully Stiles, and do not falter in your attention. His Majesty has a great distrust of magic users. Much like every other werewolf, he feels disturbed in our presence. But given recent events where His Highness is concerned, His Majesty can be…unreasonable.”

“So he will despise me no matter what I do then?” Stiles felt his cut clench as Deaton belted his robes.

“Not as such. But much like the others, first impressions will be difficult. He has been told very little of what has transpired since your arrival. Only getting the thinnest details that the messengers could send him. So, when he arrives, remain silent and let Her Majesty do the talking.”

Stiles could do nothing else but swallow the lump in his throat, and follow Deaton to the throne room. Everyone, _everyone_ is assembled there. Which was astonishing. Given the short amount of time they had to prepare for the king’s arrival. The queen sat at the throne. Peter and Laura to her left. Derek and Cora to her right. The throne next to directly next to her sat empty. Bereft of its king. Who would be here shortly.

When the doors open, the man who enters is exactly what Stiles expected. He is an imposing figure. Well over six feet. Dark hair. Much like Derek and Laura. But his eyes are a fiercer green. Something that felt sharp and deadly. He is covered in dirt and blood. His tunic is torn. Altogether, rather disheveled to present himself in the throne room.

The queen rises as does everyone else. He has eyes only for her. No one else in the room is of any importance. When he reaches her, he takes her hand into his own. Softly pulling her close. Just resting. Seeing and nothing more. Stiles looks away. As, for some strange reasons, the moment feels oddly intimate and private. Something that he should not be looking at.

“I told you my king, I am fine.”

“Pardon, but when a messenger tells me that someone has tried to assassinate my wife, I am entitled to worry.” The king’s eyes are red. Stiles can feel his magic thrum. The king is a strange mix of angry and relieved. No doubt having worried over the queen the since he received the news to begin with.

“I am fine. My life was never in any danger.”

“The one who saved you, is he present?” Stiles felt his heart sink at the king’s question.

The queen’s eyes quiver. But she looks towards him. And the king follows. Literally. As he makes his way over towards Stiles. Heavy footfalls thundering across the floor. He did not move. He barely breathed. He kept perfectly and absolutely still as the king came to stand in front of him.

“You are the one, the one who I thank for saving my wife?” Despite him being covered in dirt and blood, Stiles felt slightly less afraid. The king’s stature may have been imposing, but now he could see. His eyes were kind.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Stiles did not have time to bow. He did not have time to lower his head.

The king’s arms wrapped around him in a fierce, unrelenting hug. He could feel his bones creak as he was lifted off of the ground. Being gently held there as the man fully embraced him in front of god and company. This family truly did have no regard for any social dictation whatsoever. At least where Stiles was concerned.

The man lowers him to the floor. Looking at him as if he is the most precious thing to walk creation. He claps his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. There is a few brief seconds of silence. Everyone in the room is unable to do or say anything. Then, the king is back towards the king. And Stiles is left wondering just what would happened next. Given that he had been told the king did not like those who had magic. And certainly being hugged by the queen, crown princess, and now the king would spread rumors like the plague. He opted to shelve his anxiousness. Instead, he wondered what they were having for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a fun way to end the chapter. Up next, PAPA HALE! Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. So much goddamn angst. I love pining idiots. Ya'll have fun.

Derek had been trying to equalize himself over the last two days. His father was back. Which was, of course, absolutely wonderful. But at the same time, it did not help the already complicated matters at hand. The man had come bursting in, covered in dirt and blood. Discarding any and all sense of propriety that was expected of royals.

Even more so when he openly hugged Stiles in front of god and company. Which, given that his mother and Laura had both done the same thing, was not without precedent. But his father was not an overly affectionate man. Not in the slightest. He was as tactile as all wolves were. But he was honorable and respectful and never behaved in such a manner. Less he was in the privacy of his family.

Stiles seemed, like he always did, rather stunned. Not afraid. Even with the enormity of the man, he was not afraid. Just surprised. His heart jumped a few beats, but was otherwise fine. The other issue was now he carried his father’s scent. Which did not help Derek in any way to settle his already complicated feelings.

He had already come to the acceptance that Stiles was pack. He was pack before his secret was revealed and that he was named Deaton’s successor. That, Derek had come to accept. However hesitant he had been on the matter. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd had already accepted the matter. Even with their own hesitation towards the human. Given that he had magic.

All wolves, born or bitten, instinctually feared those who had magic in their blood. As magic was one of the few things that could truly bring them harm. They, as werewolves, had magic as well. But in a different way. In was in their blood. To run equal with nature and change their shape. But only their shape. They could not affect the world around them. Stiles and Deaton were the ones that could do such things. And it frightened them.

According to Deaton, Stiles was the type that even other magic users feared. That he was mistrusted, or even ostracized by his own people. To say the he terrified werewolves would have been a gross understatement. That was the kind of power that he had been born with. The only difference was that he had not yet had someone to help him cultivate it. Even still…

Derek had felt a threat from the other man when they first met. That was not able to be disputed. But as he got to know him….Stiles’ power put him leagues above others. Even if he himself did not realize it. Yet he was never cruel or cunning or malicious. He could have very easily used his powers for whatever he wanted. To scheme or plot. But he did not. He was…good.

Derek had been loath to admit his own feelings. He had accepted Stiles as pack. The others had accepted him as pack. What he felt was…more. More than pack. And it frightened him. He had not felt anything of the sort since Kate’s head went rolling. Since her schemes and plots and abuse. Since he had truly learned to fear magic, and what those who wielded it could do. Stiles had magic, vastly more powerful than the ones she had used. She was an insect in terms of power difference. But that wasn’t the only thing.

Stiles was…kind. He was patient. He was observant in that thoughtful way. The one that let you know that he paid attention when it mattered. Derek had experienced many people in his life. His position as prince and the only son to the king and queen was a busy one. Of the many people he had met in his life, very few of them were genuine. Very few of them saw past his position, his station, and what he could do for them.

Since the first day that they had met, Stiles had cared nothing of the fact that Derek was a prince. That he was in the company of royals. That he was in the company of nobles. He used the proper terms of address. As he was expected. Beyond that, he remained utterly unimpressed with each and every one of them. He saw them as people. Truly, saw them as people. And that, above anything else, was the most astounding thing.

His hadn’t spoken with anyone about it. Not his sisters. Not his betas. He had never been all that expressive about his own feelings. Given that they had been used against him. Derek wanted to see if he could have…something. Stiles was no longer a commoner. He was in training to be the Hale pack emissary. Which greatly elevated his station. It put them to a more balanced position. A more balanced station. That being said…he was still afraid.

Given that Stiles was a man would already cause complications. It was not uncommon for any person of station to have a lover. Or lovers for that matter. But a prince was an exception to that. Royals were expected to be discreet about their affairs. Derek was, indeed, a private person. But he had no desire to skulk around. Slinking in half made meetings, and secretive embraces. Stiles did not deserve that.

There was also the matter of the difference in station. Even if the man was to become their new emissary, he was still no lord. He was without land, title, or wealth. That difference would ignite plenty of tension. Both within the nobility, parliament, and the ministers. Stiles also did not deserve that. Even still…the thought of it lingered. It lingered and lingered and lingered further still.

He tried to keep himself busy. Burying himself in his work and his duties. Of which there were plenty. Derek had been raised a soldier from the time he could walk. At twenty, he was given the position of general. As was expected of a man of his station. He was well respected by his men. And took the matters of military quite seriously.

There was a vote to expand their naval efforts. Which, to a degree, he understood. They had not had outright war on the seas with any other country for well a century. But pirates liked to prowl on the southern trade routes. And an expanded navy would discourage all but the boldest ones. The matter was finding the funding. Ships did not build themselves, and the materials did not magically appear from nowhere. They needed lumber, iron, and manpower.

Derek could afford to personally fund at least part of three of the larger ships. Recent trade agreements had been quite lucrative, and his personal connections had been kind to his coffers. But a prince could not afford to fund the navy singlehandedly. Parliament and the Naval Cabinet had come to an agreement. He would contribute where he could, but matters of state needed to be handled with the state.

He was half buried in his work when a messenger came to see him. His father had been wanting to see him. Derek excused himself from his lieutenants, not having any desire to keep his father waiting. It had been two days since he had arrived back, and they had yet to have a free moment with each other. None of them had. Things were accelerating and being dealt with.

When he enters his father’s study, the man is on his feet quicker than a breath. Arms wrapped around Derek. Holding him. Much like when he was a pup. This kind of thing was not done in public. At least, it wasn’t supposed to be done. Recent weeks had seen that sense of decorum broken down. Derek didn’t find himself caring all that much.

“It’s good to see you, son.” His father’s smile is as wondrous as it always was. For all the sternness he had, when he smiled, it was true.

“Good to see you as well.”

The sit together. Silently. Nothing of import for the moment. Having a moment of time for themselves. He was here for business. He knew that. But this, this was theirs. It was sad that it could not last. But being royals, a king and a prince, they had their duties. They had their responsibilities. As trying as they can be.

“Those traitors think us fools. Telling us that they knew nothing of Deucalion’s plans.”

His father’s anger is apparent. Deucalion had, not so subtly, made alliances with four other prominent alphas. And while they may not have directly involved themselves in fighting, the implication was there. Derek knew that another fight was on the horizon. That they were on a knife’s edge. He wondered how much longer that they had before they bleed.

“Course of action?” Derek wanted to be prepared. More so given that they had already survived one coup.

“The younger two, the twins…I feel that they entered under duress. The others…they wanted power. Plain and simple. They’re trying to hide that fact, but given recent events…It’s rather obvious who organized the attempt on your mother’s life. The matter is now how to bring them to justice.”

Derek could feel his hackles raise on edge. The thought of his mother nearly dying. The fact that someone had tried to end her life. That someone, for no more reason than power, tried to murder her. Had it not been for Stiles…had it not been for that one, insane action, his mother would not still be here. He had thought about that often. And wondered just how he would ever repay the man.

“You’re thinking, and I know what of. The boy is safe. I may have a distaste for his kind after…Regardless. The point I’m trying to make is, you need to speak with him. Make sure that he understands.”

“Laura said the same thing.” Derek remembered his sister’s words. And the fact that he had not yet had the courage to follow her advice.

“You’ve marked the boy as pack. He’s human, son. He doesn’t understand what all that entails. Even if Deaton teaches him. Plus, I get the feeling that this may be more than just about pack.”

Derek cursed his father’s attentiveness. The man was a king, and a soldier, and a general. But he had a keen sense of others. Most of all his own children. There was no escaping that. Or the fact that he was afraid. The fact that he was lost. And did not know what to do.

“I remember the first time I met your mother. I looked at her like that. There’s no shame in it, son. If you’ve found something, someone that makes you happy, take it.”

“He’s a low born. Society will never accept that, even if he takes my affections.” It was the first time that Derek had said the truth out loud. And it hurt more than he thought it would.

“Society be damned. We are Hales. If you so desire it, then Parliament, the Naval Cabinet, the ministers…all of them. I will see to it that they have nothing to say, and that if they do, they’re tongues will find themselves detached.”

Derek felt a certain kind of warmth spread through him. To know that he had his father’s support. That he had his king’s support. He was still scared. He was still unsure. Stiles may not feel that way. Or he may be too frightened at the notion. Given that Derek was a prince. But knowing the fact, and that he had his family, he might just find the courage after all.

***

“Stiles, if you could focus, that would be lovely.”

Deaton had been particularly thorough and on point today. Stiles, as he sometimes did, was having trouble keeping attention. He had been engrossed in his studies since they began. But there were some days were the words on a page ran together. Becoming a droll, monotonous mess that failed to rouse his interest. His teacher had no sympathy for him.

Today was, yet again, more mechanics and principals. They had started practicing the application of his inherent talents. On a rather small scale. Deaton had explained that his power was vast and exponential when compared to others. Even by the standards of the ones employed in the palace. Therefore, it would take thrice the effort and discipline.

Stiles had, politely, explained that he had never once lost control of his magic. That he had always done exactly what he wanted to do with it. Deaton retorted that he had only ever used it in the smallest of scales. That it had been mostly instinctual. And that applied application, knowledgeable use of his magic, required extensive training.

He did his best to be patient. Deaton was not a bad or crass man. But the man had certain expectations of someone who would be his eventual successor. For the foreseeable future, theory and principal would take priority. Given that, if unleased in a way that was not controlled, Stiles could level a forest. At least, that’s what Deaton had said.

He was just about to doze off when there was a knock at the door. Stiles expected Erica, as she frequently dropped by to see him. Instead, in walked the Vice-Mister that he had met not too long ago. Jackson Whittmore was impeccable in his presence. Flawlessly put together in every aspect. Since their meeting in the library, Stiles had not spoken to him again.

“Pardon the intrusion, but His Majesty wishes a word with your apprentice.”

Stiles felt his stomach drop, and his heart shoot into his throat. It was terrifying enough to think about an audience with the king. Even more that he had ordered a Vice-Minister to deliver the message. Deaton simply nods his head, closing the book he had reading from. Effectively dismissing Stiles.

He walks beside the Vice-Minister. Which seemed strange. Given that they were not of equal station. But the man did not seem to mind. He did, however, seem oddly tense. He was a werewolf, and that could be part of it. Given that all of them felt, at the very least, unsettled whenever Stiles was near. Given that he had magic. But he felt that there was another, underlying reason to the tension in his spine. He got his reason as to why as they entered a quiet, deserted hallway.

“Have you found yourself comfortable in palace, now that your family is present?”

“Much so, sir. It is always comforting to have loved ones close.” He was searching for something in Stiles’ answer.

“Ms.Martin is your sister then?”

“No, sir. And I will not entertain your fishing.” Stiles shut that down with the veracity of iron. He was not playing that game.

“Fishing, what ever could you…” he stops to a halt. Right where he stands. Turning to face the other man. Eye to eye. Which, given that he was a werewolf, was not the best of ideas. As it was seen as a challenge in authority. But, given the circumstances, he would cross that bridge when the time came.

“A word, sir. If you seek Lydia, seek her yourself. Do not fish for tidbits and gossip. She is a well-educated, free minded woman. Treat her as such, and you will find no issue.”

Jackson simply nodded his head. Asking no more questions. No longer fishing and searching. Lydia would have Stiles’ ass if he spoke about her so casually. Especially to someone such as this man. If he sought her affections, he would have to earn them on his own merits. However arduous a task that may be. He had known Lydia since they were children, and she had never been easily impressed.

When they arrive at the doors, the man dismisses himself. Saying no goodbyes, and departures. Stiles’ faces the fine okay doors, wondering just what lay in store for him. He could not feel any anger, or malice coming from the room. His magic told him that. If the king wished him harm, he would know rather quickly.

The man is seated when he enters. Idly writing away with his pen on something Stiles is sure is important. He bows, as he should, waiting for instruction. The man may have hugged him when they first met, (for whatever reason), but there was little mistake. He was king, and Stiles, decidedly, was not.

“Thank you for coming so quickly. Please, be seated.”

Stiles takes a seat in front of the king’s desk. Arms in front of him, eyes forward. He knew nothing of the man. But he had been drilled on decorum since his arrival. Even if, at times, that propriety had been blurred. Or even disregarded entirely. The man was stern. Fierce looking. Every bit a king and a soldier. Stiles had no misunderstandings that he was that type.

“Firstly, I would like apologize for my uncouth conduct. I was…overwhelmed. And I should have behaved in a more appropriate manner.”

“No apologies are necessary, Your Majesty. I have…grown accustomed to slight lapses in formality since my arrival.” Stiles does not lie, but he does not detail that he had been hugged by the queen, as well as the crown princess.

“My wife has told me much. About your position here, what you’ve done for my son. About what you did for her.”

“I…I am not all that special, Your Majesty. As much as others might say. I simply am stubborn. Enough to match His Highness on his more unfortunate days.” Stiles did not look away when he spoke to the man. Even though the urge was there.

The king’s eyes tense. Crinkling around the edges. His hands close on themselves. Knuckles turning white with how tightly his fingers were pressed. Stiles’ magic hissed at the man’s anger. It was not towards him. That, he knew for sure. Even still, he was sitting less than six feet from an angry werewolf. The notion of that danger was not lost on him.

“I will admit, when I first heard the news…I was displeased. I dislike magic users. Given what has happened with this family. What has happened with my son. But….You risked your life, your secret. You could have easily ignored it, yet you chose to risk everything. Your position, your life, your family. Why?”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. He had given his answers to Peter. To Derek. To Deaton. To the queen. They had not been as out rightly hostile as the king. His displeasure for those who had magic was clear. He was not angry at Stiles. Not per say. If he had to give it words, the king was angry at magic as a whole. And by extension of that anger, those who practiced or had it. He knew the perfect answer to give.

“Because I know the pain of losing a mother, sir.”

There is a brief moment. A small moment. The king’s anger flares, then dissipates entirely. There is no trace of it in his eyes. Replaced with it, is sadness. A grief that Stiles knows all too well. His mother was no longer living. He had taken Stiles’ words, his truth to heart. He knew that he had not lied.

“Forgive me. I let my distrust cloud my thoughts. I am not here to persecute you. Only to find the answers.”

Stiles understood well enough. There was an unspoken thing. Something that had happened with this country. With Derek. A horrible trauma. A betrayal of some kind. Something that scarred him, and his family. Something that made them quiver with rage whenever it was thought of. He did not need to ask the details. As it was not his business.

“I understand that my wife and brother-in-law have given you just reward for your deeds.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. They have been very gracious.” Stiles had received a substantial amount of coin from Peter. More so than he would ever need in his life. And the queen had granted him a position as Deaton’s successor. A station that would no doubt afford him even more.

“Then allow me, as king, to give you one more. For saving my wife. And for helping my son.”

Stiles moves to offer rebuttal when the king raises his hand. Effectively silencing him. He had always had an overactive tongue. But he knew now, in this moment, that it was best to keep quiet. The king produces a piece of parchment. An elegant thing. The kind that Stiles had seen used for official documents.

“As of today, you are now lord the land mentioned in this document. Along with the title of Earl. You are effectively, under my authority as king, a member of this country’s nobility. And all that it entitles.”

“I…I don’t know how to be an Earl, sir.” Stiles was trying his best not to pass out as the king spoke. As the realization hit him.

“Relax, dear boy. The land is mostly forest. Ripe for development. With one or two farms. You will have time to settle into the position. Your training as emissary recuses you from any other political duties. For now, please accept my thanks. And the thanks of this country.”

Stiles took the document in hand. Bowing his head as he did so. This was more than he had ever hoped for. He had expected the king to distrust him. Maybe to even hate him. Given what Deaton had said when he arrived. But here, the man had made him an Earl. Given him land, and no doubt a home to go with it. He was an Earl. And he had no idea with what to do with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT TWIST BITCH! God this was such a fun chapter to write. Next, Stiles learns that, even as an Earl, he still has plenty to learn. And Derek, maybe, MAYBE get his shit together and talks about his feelings. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, but with a twist. Ya'll have fun.

Stiles had been sitting in his chambers for well over an hour now. The only thing he had done was stare at the document the king had given him. It was a single page. And within that page, it detailed the logistics of his newfound status as an Earl. It was all relatively simple. The land in which he now owned was actually not all that far from his home. Like the king had said, it was mostly forest. With two large grain farms. Not the grandest of things. But more than he could have ever dreamed of possessing.

Per the king’s request, he kept the information to himself. Given that the news of his newly elevated station would not be received with gusto. At least, not by everyone. Parliament, according to the king, was full of old codgers. Who were full of old ways. A low born commoner being elevated to a station as high as Earl was not exactly going to be met with a great deal of fanfare.

He slipped the document into a suitable hiding place. Away from prying eyes. So far, he had yet to detect anyone that had been in his room. Apart from the chamber maid that changed his sheets and washed his clothes. As always, his magic was rather good at keeping him safe. And would let him know ifs someone was traipsing around his room with not so good intentions.

Stiles did not find rest easily that night. Given all that had happened. He had no idea what happened next. Given that he had already experienced more in the last few months, than he had in his entire life. That, and he was still struggling with his own feelings. Back home, there had been plenty of comely girls. He had danced with them. Dined with them. Even kissed a few of them. Nothing beyond that. Derek was certainly not a comely maiden.

He was a red blooded, alpha werewolf. Stiles had never…He had never really found himself attracted to another man before. Then again, he had never given all that much thought. Nor had he spent that much time with another man. Apart from Scott. But they were practically brothers. He had been infatuated with Lydia once. When they were younger, and he was a love struck lad without much sense. This….this was different.

He had no idea how to even approach the matter. Not that he even had the courage to do so. Even if they weren’t separated by the vast differences in their station. (Regardless of him being an Earl.) Princes did not marry other men. That was not how things worked. Nor did he expect them to. At best, Stiles would confess what he felt. He would bare his honesty. And Derek would accept. Which would relegate Stiles to the position of a lover. (See, kept boy.)

He had no desire to be carted around secretive corners, and hushed embraces. Stiles had heard plenty of stories amongst the servants. And even among the nobles. Trysts. Affairs. Secret meetings. They were one of the most popular topics of conversation. Gossip flew like the plague, and even with the fact that these people ran the government, they were no less children in the matter.

Much like anything else Stiles decided when he could not reach a definitive answer, he ignored the matter entirely. He had enough to worry over. Namely, he would be resuming his studies in earnest tomorrow, and Deaton had not been known to show mercy for any hint of his slacking. The day was long, and he knew that there was more to come.

The man is already preparing the lesson when he arrives. They had been starting earlier and earlier in the morning. Right after breakfast. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Even if he wasn’t a morning person, Deaton did not keep him for an overly long time. And they were usually, on a good day, done with the lessons shortly after lunch. Surprisingly, they were not focusing on the matters of an emissary. Rather, on Stiles’ new position.

The king had discreetly informed Deaton on the matter. And requested that Stiles be instructed on the nature and logistics of his new position. Firstly, and most importantly, was understanding the hierarchy in which he now stood. Earls, in one form or another, held political obligations. And often took positions in Parliament, the Naval Cabinet, or of the varying ministers. Given that Stiles was to be Deaton’s successor, he would be excused from this.

In terms of ranking and power, he was in the middle. Even still, the amount of influence in which he now held based on the title, land, and subsequent education he was now receiving was not to be undervalued. He could, effectively, grant titles to others. As long as they were not equal or above his own. All he needed was royal approval, and no requirement from Parliament. Though he would need either the king or queen’s approval.

More so, his land gave him access to industry. Namely, development. As long as it was within the letter of the law, and the proper channels were addressed, Stiles could effectively do anything with the area in which he was given. He had no clue about anything in terms of industry, or development. Or even the terms which detailed the exact amount of land he now had. Given that he was an Earl, a mid ranked noble, he assumed it was considerable.

There was also the matter of his coin. Peter had already supplied apple amounts, plus his own pay for which he would receive training under Deaton. For the most part, it would go towards his land, and keeping it maintained. Namely, the farms in which were being run. The workers would need their pay, and ample supplies to keep the crops and livestock healthy.

It was all very overwhelming. Stiles felt his head spinning halfway through. Thankfully, Deaton took his time, and fully explained everything in the details that were required. The first half the day was spent on that. The next, they resumed the teachings for Stiles’ learning to be the new Hale emissary. Which, given the level of political commitment, he was happy to excluded from the usual expectations of an Earl.

After lunch, Stiles can feel his legs begin to go numb, and he wants nothing more than to take a nap. Deaton was not going to allow that to happen. With all they had left to cover. It was going to be one of those rare, long days. In which he was expected to stay until near dinner time. When he finally gets to leave, Stiles barely has the energy to stand. Deaton hands him vial of something that tastes like grass. But it wakes him up regardless.

He decides to eat in his room. Not having the energy for the dining hall. (Nor wanting to deal with it for that matter.) When he manages to make it back his chambers, Scott is already there. They ate most nights. The Hales did not seem entirely uncomfortable with him present. The surprise, was Lydia. As always, she had a book in hand. Idly listening to Scott go on and on. Like Stiles, he always had something to talk about. The young woman had long since learned to deal with the both of them in stride.

Scott rarely left Stiles’ side whenever the opportunity presented. Lydia simply liked his chambers the best because they had the most room. And them being out of the way of the usual foot traffic was another added bonus. Like anyone trying to read, the young woman preferred the quiet. Stiles didn’t mind. As it was often the only time of the day that they got to see one another. Given that his lessons would now become more intense. His new title had saw to that.

It was difficult to keep the secret from the two of them. As well as his father. They were his family. They told each other everything. They always had. But, apparently, not exactly everything. Given that Lydia was sporting new trinket. The young woman enjoyed fashion as much as anyone could expect of the daughter of textile merchants. But this…this was not something she paid for. Lydia did not wantonly spend money on finery. To her, it was something that made a statement to her taste, not her status.

It was a small thing. A broach. Silver and gold. With a modest emerald in the center. It was very much Lydia’s taste. Understated, but elegant. It was something her parents would have bought her. Stiles had no doubt as to who purchased the piece. It appeared Jackson had taken his advice and gotten to know something, rather than mindless flattery.

Nor he or Scott had said anything. Lydia did not care for anyone’s opinion but her own. If she did not ask for it, it was best to leave it be. She was to be feared when wrathful. Scott was still enamored with Allison. Especially once he learned that she had a horse in the palace stables. A beautiful, black coated mare. He was mesmerized by the beast. As anyone would. Scott was good with all animals. Of every breed. But he held a special fondness for horses.

He talked about the animals almost as much as he talked about Allison. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. But the young man was commoner. Allison, even with her diminished house, (that’s what he had heard), was still a noblewoman. If Scott wanted to….

The idea clicked in his head as quickly as could be. Deaton’s lessons were good for something. Stiles was an Earl. And Earl with land. Land that he could distribute, along with an official title. Even if it was a low ranking one, even the lowest one, he could make his friend a nobleman. That being said, he would have to talk to the king first. He was just thinking about how to address the matter when there was a knock at his door.

Scott hopped from his seat, bounding over towards the door like the over excited puppy that he was. Stiles always wondered if his friend was an animal in another life. The thought of it amused him. What did not, in fact, amuse him, was his friend’s face when he opened the door. It had turned chalk white, and as he stepped aside, there stood Derek.

The prince’s face was placid, but Stiles’ magic told him that the man was nervous. Almost afraid. Of what he did not know. Scott and Lydia posed no threat. And the man had long since become accustomed to Stiles’ presence. Which made it all the stranger. All the more interesting. Even more so when Derek asked him a simple, small question. One, to anyone else, would have seemed perfectly ordinary. But Stiles had been learning the language of royals and nobles.

“Would you like to share a walk with me?”

The question itself was utterly unremarkable. But it was the wording that caught Stiles’ attention. It was the wording that had made the difference. Derek had not asked to ‘take’ a walk. He had asked to ‘share’ a walk. He was asking if Stiles wanted to share a piece of his day. A piece of his time. The two of them. Which had only one real implication. And it made his heart drop into his stomach.

***

An hour. It had taken an hour for Derek to convince himself to go and talk to Stiles. To actually go to the man, and have the conversation he should have had weeks ago. Now was the time, given everything that had happened. He decided to keep the decision to himself. As he knew exactly what his beta’s reactions would be.

Erica, the minx, would have made a crass joke. And teased him into madness and obliteration. Isaac would have said nothing. As Derek would have preferred above all else. Boyd, blessed Boyd, would have just clamped a hand over his shoulder. Nodding his head in silent encouragement. Derek did not want any of their reactions. Less he lose his nerve before he even started that way.

The walk over is quiet. And spent in pensive contemplation. He hadn’t even really worked out what to say to Stiles. What he would do. How he would express himself. As a prince, he had been taught and trained in speech from the time he could speak. But…this kind of thing…all those years of learning seemed to fail him. He was not a scholar or a poet. And Stiles didn’t seem the type to be so easily swooned by lovely and silver lined words to begin with.

Stiles was…complicated. All that Derek really knew about him was that he had lost his mother at a young age. That his father was a lawman. That he had magic. And that his magic seemed to have, at times, a mind of its own. He knew that the man was good, and kind, and snippy, and talked too much sometimes. But this wasn’t a romance novel. And Derek was not a love struck fool. Neither was Stiles for that matter.

When he arrives, it’s Scott who answers the door. His bronze skin turns pallid, and Derek’s nostril’s fill with the scent of the other man’s fear. It is rather obvious that he is not used to the casualness that Derek and Stiles share. Where either one of them might just show up, announced towards the other. Derek himself had yet to understand it. They were…comfortable with one another. In a way that he had not felt in a rather long time.

Stiles does not outright reject his offer to share a walk. Though, the red headed woman, Lydia, raises an inquisitive brow at Derek’s question. She was a rather formidable woman. Since her arrival in the palace, she, on no occasion, ever showed any nervousness or fear in their presence. Most humans instinctually feared werewolves. This woman showed no such signs of any such reservations. In fact, she had held her had tall and proud the entire time. Derek knew better than to make her cross.

She makes no comment as Stiles stands to leave, but he knew that the woman would be asking questions later. And she would no doubt get answers. Even Stiles, with all his bullheadedness and stubbornness would not refuse her. Derek thought it to be an amusing thing to witness had he tried. Then then the thought vanished.

They walk together in silence. Stiles does not smell of fear or nervousness. Though he does look somewhat pale. He had been spending quite a lot of time indoors these days. Derek made a note to share more time with the man. Outdoors. That is, if the man accepted his feelings to begin with. That was what he feared the most.

The gardens are bathed in pink light when they arrive. The last rays of sunlight as dusk comes to a close. Derek liked them at this time of night. Where the world was quieter, and seemed all the more magical. Stiles seemed to feel at ease. He disliked the forest, but he seemed happy here. Derek was glad. As the conversation that was to come was sure to be….discomforting.

“You seem rather busy these days. Is Deaton keeping you that occupied?”

“Highness, did you truly invite me to speak of my studies?” Stiles’ tone was even and flat. He looked directly at Derek as he spoke. A challenge by any other person. In him, it was a man seeking honesty. It was a man seeking truth.

“No.”

Stiles could not detect a lie as wolves could. But his magic was another matter. Deaton had explained it. That the man’s intuition led him to know whether or not he could trust someone. Whether or not he could believe them. Derek would not disrespect Stiles by skirting or deflecting what he meant. He simply did not have the words. So, he did not use them.

Stiles does not flinch when Derek grasps his wrist. He can feel the man’s pulse beneath his fingers. It was a gentle thing. A small, thrumming hum that seemed a hymn. Derek felt calmed by it. Relaxed by it. Entranced by it. Such a strange thing. To be enamored with something so utterly simple. Regardless, he was indeed enamored.

He pressed his lips to the man’s wrist. Right above his veins. His scent fills the prince’s nose. Sharp, and full of spice. Derek can hear the other man’s heart quicken now. There was a blush creeping along the man’s face. All the way up to his ears. Turning his marble skin the slightest shade of pink. Derek thought it to be adorable.

“You wish me as a lover then?”

“No. Lovers are for secrecy and hidden embraces. I would not disrespect you in that way. Nor would I ever ask of it.” Derek is still holding his wrist.

“I appreciate that, Highness. But I think we would make a scene. So many young noblewomen would be aggrieved.” Stiles smiles. It is honest, and makes Derek heart flutter.

“So you share my affections, then?”

Stiles does not answer. He says nothing. Instead, he leans forward. Pressing his lips to Derek’s cheek. The man can see his pulse thrumming in his neck. He wants to lick it. But he restrains his baser urges. Pushing down the rumbling of the wolf. This was certainly not the time.

“I dare say, Highness, that I indeed share your affections. I also shared your hesitation, given how reserved we both were in our fear.”

It is Derek’s turn to smile. It is, what he believes, to be the first, true and honest smile that he can remember. There’s a small twinge in his chest. It comes as quickly as it goes. He thinks it to be something akin to relief. Or happiness. Or both. Or something altogether different entirely. He does not have the words for it. Only that he is particularly pleased with the sensation.

“So, Highness, what does this make us? A pair? But of what kind?”

“The official terminology would be consort. But, if that does not fit your inclinations, feel free to choose something else.”

“Consort. It seems appropriate, Highness. It makes it sound official. Not that it makes a difference. Given what people will say.” Stiles face seems to, for a moment, go pale. With worry.

Derek assures him, not with words, but with action. Lacing their fingers together. Holding them together with the gentles of the breeze. He delights in seeing the blush return to Stiles’ face. That wondrous pink shade decorating his skin. He wonders what else he could to make it that color.

“I am a prince. Therefore, I shall listen to what others have to say, and then ignore them entirely.”

“I suppose I should have expected nothing less, Highness.

“You are correct indeed. And Stiles…Call me Derek.” This time, Stiles goes from pink to red. It was a beautiful thing to witness. For once, Derek was able to tease the man. He looked forward to doing it far more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! Boys and their feelings. Next chapter, Stiles learns that being the recipient of a prince's affections have its ups and downs. And Derek, perhaps, has something of a crisis. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, with a fluff chaser at the end.

Things were hectic, as Stiles had expected them to be. As of now, he and Derek were…official. That, in of itself, was enough to send out one rather impressive shockwave. Had he been a different man, Stiles would have insisted on secrecy. But he had no desire to be anyone’s liaison. He understood that Derek was a prince, as well as their massive difference in station. That did not change the fact that he had no desire to skulk around corners.

The reaction that he had been met with was a mixture. Firstly, and the one he expected the most, was from the nobility. They were, in a word, outraged. People had distrusted him enough with him having magic. As werewolves tended to fear that kind of thing. But a commoner being made consort to the prince? There was plenty of discord among that. As well as plenty of foul things said under their breath.

His father was happy for him. If a little disappointed. Given that grandchildren weren’t really going to be a possibility. Stiles may have had magic, but even he didn’t think that was possible. Scott and Lydia were overjoyed. Well, Scott was overjoyed. Lydia was…relieved. As if him and Derek talking about their feelings was a weight off of her shoulders.

The other part, the part that he did not expect, was from Derek’s family. Namely, Peter. The snide, smug bastard had plenty of remarks to make. Stiles made a note to avoid having tea with him for quite a while. Given his newly elevated station, that was in the realm of his possibilities. Laura, was the more shocking one. Given that, one day, she had politely pulled Stiles to the side. A small smile across her face. And in the calmest, sweetest voice possible, threatened him with egregious bodily harm should he hurt Derek.

Cora was of a similar nature. Only she was far less lax in the matter. Given that her eyes turned gold, and Stiles felt the prick of her claws in his arm. He had made a due note to never, ever cross either of them. Even if he had magic, and they were afraid of him on some level, he had no desire to fight for his own safety.

The other part, the part that he had been dreading, was the fact that he was now an earl being made public. That made as much noise, if not more, than when it was revealed that Derek had taken Stiles as a consort. According to Deaton, the House of Parliament made quite a fuss over the king’s decision. It was not at all uncommon to award commoners with station for great service to country. But the manner in which it was done…There was no ceremony. No officiation. And the rank which he received was abnormally high. As well as the amount of land he received.

His Majesty reminded the House of Parliament that Stiles had, in fact, foiled an assassination attempt on their country’s queen. And as such, was rightfully due to all that given to him. Deaton, in private, had said that the king wanted to grant him the title of Duke. Which would have made him one of highest ranking members of the nobility outside the royal family. But upon further thought, he had decided against it. Given the amount of trouble it could have caused. For which he was eternally grateful.

Derek, for all he was worth, seemed completely unbothered by all of the gossip and fuss that came with their announcement. In fact, he pushed propriety and tradition even further. They had been…affectionate. On the days that Stiles took his meals in the dining hall, Derek sat next to him. One hand laced between his own. Winding their fingers together. Sometimes, even in the company of other, the man would rest his head on Stiles’ shoulder. And just…stay there.

At first, Stiles had been uncomfortable. He was not used to such affections outside his family. Back home, when two people made themselves known, such things were often kept private. Any such displays were often reserved, and minimal. Derek had no such reservations. Of which Stiles surprised. But, after a week, he returned the favor. And did his best to show his affections to the man in turn.

Some days, on the calmer days, he would lounge in the library. Derek would sit beside him. Shoulder to shoulder. Hands together, looking out the enormous bay windows. Enjoying the stillness of it all. They would talk of small, idle things. What Stiles’ hometown was like. How Derek grew up as a royal. What is was like to have siblings. So on and so forth.

There was a part of Stiles that wanted to ask about the one thing that Derek had always kept to himself. The one thing that was hushed and spoken in with anger, and contempt. The thing that seemed to hang over his head like a pitch black cloud. But he did not. Such things were not his right to ask. Such things were not his right to know. Unless Derek wanted him to. And, for the moment, he had not decided to reveal it. So, he left it alone.

The other thing that changed after he and Derek were announced, was the way the betas treated him. Erica had never been shy of pushing the boundaries of propriety. But now…it was left about mischief and more about…something else. Not that she said anything on the matter. She was tight lipped as ever. He knew that there was something different about the way she greeted and spent time with. He just didn’t know what.

Boyd, stern, placid, respectful Boyd began changing as well. His usual greeting was a clap of hand on Stiles’ shoulder. That was the extent of it. Now, it was a hug. And not a brief, reserved one either. A full on, arms wrapped around hug. Stiles, not knowing what else to do, returned the affection. Even if he did not understand why it was happening.

Isaac was…well…the same. He rarely spoke to Stiles, unless necessary. But like the others, he embraced him a way that was different than before. It wasn’t exactly warm and cuddly, but it was a bright side better than how he used to greet Stiles. Which was usually with a look of disdain, and general unpleasantness. Now, they were almost friends. Almost.

Stiles had plenty of questions. But he reserved them for a later date. He supposed that werewolves were different in the ways they interacted with one another. Derek, despite being a prince, had seen to that several times. Given that royals were not meant to show such things. However, Stiles seemed to be an exception to that code of conduct. Seeing as he had been hugged by the queen, the crown princess, and the king. All of which defied the rules of traditional societal expectations.

Not wanting to dwell on matters that were outside of his control, Stiles put himself back towards his studies. Focusing, intently, on what Deaton was teaching. Now, after so many weeks, they were getting into the practical application of learning. Stiles had been studying politics, mechanics, decorum, and so on for the entirety of their time together. And he was ready to scream. Now, Deaton was ready to teach him the actual uses that he could have for his magic.

According to the man, his magic was not sourced through external powers. There were no rituals or prayers or devotions needed. His magic came entirely from himself. The issue at hand, was focusing it. Stiles had always used his powers instinctively. Nothing complicated or complex. As he had told everyone, he mended things.

Given that he did not need to seek a source of power for his magic, Deaton instead remained intent on teaching him focus. To actively try and use his magic with willful thought and intention. To push it outwards and create an external effect. It was an exciting thing to think about.

The one trick that he had always done on his own, the one thing that his magic had not aided him in, was making flames. Small things that barely tipped the ends of his fingers. It was useful for lighting the furnace back home, and little else. He had never really had to try all that hard to do it. He just too the image of fire in his mind, and then there it was. Fairly straightforward. Deaton wanted to take that, and move it further.

“I don’t think I’m comfortable with that.”

“Stiles, you are my successor. You will, one day, be the emissary the most powerful pack in this country. Forgive me, but I think it wise to know how to defend yourself.” Deaton’s words clicked in his mind in a furious sense.

He had, never once, used his magic to harm anyone or anything. His mother had always taught him to keep his magic safe. To keep it secret. That wasn’t possible if he went around cursing everyone who irritated him. His mother also taught him that the magic in their blood was for helping people, not hurting them.

“I understand that this is not what you envisioned your powers being used for. But also understand, this country has enemies. Some within, and some far away, and some just next door. As emissary, you may be called to protect it. And pacifism will get you nowhere.”

Stiles did not have a rebuttal for Deaton. He spoke the truth. Being an emissary was to be a human connection. To negotiate and barter for peace and truce and treaties. But sometimes, the darker times, an emissary had to fight. When other packs decided that there would be no peace, that there would be blood. The Hales did not seem such a type, but that did not mean it would ring true for others.

The queen had promised him that he would not be used as a tool for war. That he would not be made to fight senseless or needless battles. That did not mean he would never have to fight. That he would not have to protect himself, or others. So, however much the idea disheartened him, he agreed to learn.

Deaton’s lessons plan was fairly simple. His order, his people, did not deal in curses. If magic was used to fight, if magic was used to defend, it needed to cause the least amount of damage possible. Druids existed to keep balance. To maintain the order of nature and those who live among it. Unleashing wanton destruction and chaos did not meet that purpose. So, he would not teach Stiles to channel the full extent of his power. At least, not yet.

It was the simplest of things. Not much different than how he would normally make a flame. Only this time, it needed to be his entire hand. A single, unbroken summoning of fire. He closed his eyes, trying to remember. Remember the first time he ever saw his mother use her magic to make fire. Her flames were beautiful. Soft, welcoming oranges. With the barest hint of pink at the edges. It was a good fire.

He feels the warmth of it encircle his fingers. The smallest touch. Then, it moves. It moves and moves and moves. Encasing his hand. His eyes still closed, he felt his fire’s touch. Warm and familiar. It spread further, crawling down his arm. It felt…stranger now. More tenacious. Something different…….

“STILES!”

The thunder of Deaton’s voice breaks him from his trance. Eyes flying wide. What he saw made his heart stop. The entirety of his arm, from elbow to fingertip, was encased in solid, unyielding fire. It was…white. Pure white flames. The air around him rippled with the heat of it. Then, his skin rippled with it. He passed out just as the first wave of pain hit him. The world went black as he falls.

***

Derek had been sitting by Stiles’ side for three days. The man had yet to wake. The smell of pain and singed flesh still lingered in the air. Even with his arm wrapped, the alpha could not shake the smell of his burns. The smell of his injuries. The smell of his anguish. Apparently, he was more powerful than they had previously thought.

Deaton had started a new regiment of training. One that would teach Stiles to use his magic to defend himself. His powers, up until now, had been mostly instinctual. And he had never actively used his abilities for much else. The alpha understood the reasoning well enough. Emissaries were delegators and peace makers. But like with all packs, sometimes, things came to a fight.

The problem was that they had vastly underestimated Stiles’ latent talent. And a simple spell to make fire had gone wrong. Consuming his entire arm in a matter of seconds. He had lost control, and his magic had injured him. Derek had been in the middle of his daily meetings when he got the news. He had never run so fast in his life.

When he arrived in the palace’s infirmary, Stiles was unconscious. Sheened with sweat. Reeking of pain and burnt flesh. The doctors had already cleaned him, applied salve, and bandaged him. Derek thank whatever god who would listen that Stiles wasn’t awake. The pain would have been unbearable.

He had not left since. He had taken every meal by the man’s side. Refusing to leave. For anyone or anything. His family, when they could, stopped by to see him and Stiles. He was Derek’s taken consort, and therefore, pack to them as well now. The betas were especially disturbed. Now that things were official, their connection to Stiles was intensified several times over.

They all rotated in taking his pain. Ensuring that he had an ample time to heal. Which was the most astounding part. The doctors would come in and change his bandages several times a day. Ensuring his skin stayed as clean as possible. Derek made sure of that. What was amazing, was that the burns were not half as bad as they should have been. Stiles was healing. He was healing like a wolf.

Deaton had come to inspect. Given that the injuries sustained were caused by magic. And that would produce potential complications. His theory, at least the best one he had, was that Stiles was using his magic to heal himself. That he was still asleep because his body was focused on repairing itself. They could be thankful for that, if nothing else.

On the fourth day, Stiles’ family comes by. The doctors had ordered the man to be left alone so that he may heal in peace. The only reason Derek was present was because no one dared to try and remove him. After being the only one to see Stiles apart from Deaton, he ordered the physicians to allow visitors.

His father was the first. The man had been kept with regular updates, but was overwhelmingly relieved to be able to see his child. Derek used the time to bathe, and change his clothes. Scott was there when he arrived back. He sat by Stiles’ side, holding his hand. Tears glistening in his eyes. Derek apologized to the both of them for allowing Stiles to be hurt.

He understood Deaton’s methods of training. Stiles needed to learn, and he needed to learn quickly. But they hadn’t had all the information, and it resulted in his being hurt. As an alpha, and a prince, he needed to take responsibility. For many things.

His father had come by, pulling Derek aside. Firmly reminding Derek that he needed to speak with Stiles. On terms that the other man could understand. It was one thing to be consort to a prince. It was another to be consort to an alpha. Derek agreed that when Stiles woke, they would discuss things.

The day finally came nearly a week after the accident. One moment, he was asleep. The next, his eyes fluttered open. Coming back to the waking world. Derek was by his side in an instant. Taking the man’s hand into his own. Holding. Just holding. Making sure that what he saw was real.

“Welcome back.”

“Derek? What happened?” Stiles voice was raw from being asleep for so long.

“You…there was an accident. Your magic…You lost control. You…you were hurt.”

Stiles looks down at his still bandaged arm and winces. No doubt now realizing the pain that was there. The last time they checked, he was almost healed. The skin pink and raw, yes. But no longer blistered and oozing. Derek was still amazed at the man’s ability. Had he been a regular human, he would have been here well over two months.

“I…I’d never used my magic like that before. Who knew it could go so wrong?” Stiles deflected with a smile. But Derek could tell.

His pack was hurt. And scared. And confused. The force he had grown up with all his life behaved in a way that he did not understand. His pack was frightened and didn’t know what to do. So, Derek did the only thing that he knew how.

When he climbs into bed, Stiles’ heart leaps into his chest. Derek can hear it hammering away in his chest. Drumming a maddening tune. But he cared not. He wraps his arms around the other man. Resting his head on his shoulder. Keeping it there. Knowing his scent. That wild thing that Derek once feared, now was a welcome comfort. Stiles’ magic was a strange thing, but it smelled like freedom.

“You’re all very…you’ve all been rather affectionate as of late.”

“It’s what pack does. Comforts one another. Especially when we’re injured.” Derek does not look at Stiles when he speaks. He does not have the courage.

“I’m part of your pack then. I hadn’t realized.”

“It’s…It isn’t something that be made or put into words. You have been one of us for a while. Ever since you saved my mother….Ever since Deaton took you as a successor. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Stiles smiled. He smiled that smile that made Derek’s face go hot. The one that seemed like it was out of a dream. He didn’t have time to ponder it before the man was kissing him. It was soft, and gentle, and tasted like spring. Bright, clean, and pure. He could feel his wolf howl with triumph.

The alpha ran his thumb over the man’s jaw. Reaching his chin, pulling him closer. Feeling the miniscule space between them disappear. It lasted for a moment, and an eternity in the same. Derek had…He had never been kissed this way. He had never felt this way. Shame it had to be ruined. When he pulls away, Stiles seems disheartened.

“Your father will be here in a minute.”

“Then you should probably get up. Prince or not, he will run you through with his sword.” Stiles smiled that smile again.

Derek laughed and kissed the man. It was the greatest sensation he had felt in some time. There was a tingling his fingers. A space his chest that seemed to have been filled. Something that he had been missing. Something he seemed to have found. And he had found it in Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, that was painful. But it got better. Next chapter, Derek is trying, and making progress. But sometimes, certain details are even harder to talk about than most people realize. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, with a fluff chaser at the end.

Stiles had spent another two days in bed. Derek was there almost the entire time. Deaton had been in and out. Inspecting the man’s burns. Ensuring that he was healing properly. That there was no signs of infection. Much to everyone’s amazement, including Stiles’, they were damn near healed. Almost completely for that matter.

The skin that had been burned was still pink and raw. Sensitive to the touch, but healed. It should have taken weeks, months to heal. But somehow, even without even being conscious, Stiles had started to heal all on his own, with only the barest help from the palace doctors. Deaton, of course, suspected that it was his magic. That was the only logical explanation. Among anything else.

The man had spent any free moment he had researching. Trying and trying further to see what could have caused Stiles’ practice to go so terribly wrong. It had been a routine exercise. One that Deaton had done himself when he trained as an apprentice. And one that he had taught other students currently learning in the palace on occasion. Nothing like this had every happened.

Stiles was….unique. In several regards. The first being, that his power, his magic, came internally. There was no outside source. No ritual. No motion. No anything. He simply had magic. Which, according to Deaton, was not all that uncommon. It was the matter of its strength that was the true anomaly. Many people had magic their entire lives. But it was so weak and simple that they never noticed. Stiles was the exact opposite.

As it stood, he was the most powerful magic user in the entirety of their country. Quite possibly the entire continent. Magic such as this, power such as this, had not been seen since the Dark Ages. Those horrible, terrible times when magic flowed as easily as blood. Anyone who would’ve had knowledge of such power died centuries ago. There was no one left with any definitive answers.

Deaton’s magic worked through his relationship with nature. With the understanding, commune, and mutual respect. Stiles did not have to harness his power, as it was already there. The druid had taken the safest approach that he knew, and it still had backfired. In turn, it had given them an idea of how strong Stiles truly was. Which was, by any standards, ridiculous.

Derek does not tell him this, and neither does Deaton. The man was stressed enough with the healing. With, for the first time in his life, not being able to control his magic. With being hurt by his magic. Knowing that they had no conceivable way to teach him would not help ease his worries. So, they left it alone.

When Stiles was fully healed, and able to return to his studies, (sans magic), Derek returned to his own work. He had neglected much while staying by Stiles’ side. And it had piled up quite high. For most of the day he spent reviewing various documents. Proposals. War budgets. So on. The other half of the day was spent either signing or rejecting them. His hands hurt at the end of it.

The next day was more of the same, for the most part. He spent as much time with his lieutenants as possible. As well as his pack. They had not been allowed to see Stiles by orders of the doctors attending to him. Derek had more than wanted to violate that order. But given that they were facing the unknown of Stiles’ power, as well as his being unconscious, he didn’t want to take any more unnecessary risks.

Erica was her predictable self. Shameless, and completely unhinged. She was whining, actually whining, when Derek was embracing her. There was no need to ask as to why. He had been so caught up in his worries, that he had neglected his betas. And he made sure that he profusely apologized for it. They ate dinner together. Away from the dining hall. Away from the chatter and the madness and the general chaos.

It was a quiet affair. Calm and serene. Where they just enjoyed the simplicity of each other’s company. Idle comforts and idle conversations. Much to his surprise, Erica and Boyd were officially engaged. They had circled around each other since they joined the pack. Derek watched them for years, waiting for the day when they would make things official.

They did, not too many moons ago. And their established relationship was good. He had expected the eventual engagement. Just not so soon. The other surprise, according to Erica, was the announcement of Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin. He had known that the Vice-Minister had been pursuing her, but he assumed that any talk of marriage was several years away.

In reality, it most likely still was. Lords did not date or court idly. The decision of marriage was often considered far into the future, but the term engagement was used to signify a commitment to one another. To pursue and learn and see what would lie ahead. Derek was happy for them. Though he still possessed a certain sense of caution when Lydia was near.

Scott was the next surprise. Stiles, not even waiting for his new title to settle, named his friend a Baron. Giving him the title, and a sizeable portion of the land the king had granted him. With both of those in hand, Scott officially pursued Allison Argent. He had been eyeing the woman since his arrival to the palace.

Derek did not blame him. The history their families shared aside, Allison was an accomplished woman. Intelligent. Regal. Fierce. And by no means subjective to any man. Scott saw all of this, and treated her with every amount of respect that she deserved. Though the announcement had not been made, Derek knew that they were spending a rather large amount of time together.

It made him think of himself and Stiles. The man had been named Derek’s official consort. That, in of itself, sent enough shockwaves throughout their country. The only son of the king and queen, taking another man as his consort. Many were surprised. Many were repulsed. Many were angry. Derek was second in line to the throne, and the only alpha of the three children.

As a prince, an alpha, and a general, Derek had a considerable amount of power as well as influence. Money and land. All the things that any father would dream of their daughter marrying into. Derek had removed that off the board with a swift mercilessness that sent everyone’s heads spinning. Stiles was his consort, and he would take no more. He had never been the type to flit around, bedding everyone he could because he could.

He thought of what would happen if he proposed to Stiles. If he, using the authority he had as prince and as alpha, announced that he was taking another man as his spouse. As his husband. He wondered just what the House of Parliament would say. What the Naval Cabinet would say. The ministers. His men. What his countrymen would say and do if he took Stiles as his own.

It was a dangerous thought. The man was…More than most people could ever safely know. His magic made him enticing to certain powers, but that’s not what drew Derek. He was simply…good. After Kate, after Deucalion, after everything, he was…good. More than he had in a long time. More than he felt that he deserved. The idea of marrying him pointed to lunacy, but it was a wondrous idea nonetheless.

There was, of course, another matter entirely. One that Derek had been avoiding and pushing aside since he and Stiles became official. They were still getting to know each other. Finding little pockets of time to speak and just be. Nothing more. To have one another in the privacy of themselves. Where no one could disturb them. Derek learned as much as he could, and Stiles did as well. Even with all things new, Derek was still afraid.

They had spent a great deal of time together, whenever they were able to make the time. At several occasions, they dined in private. Away from the others. Away from everything. Quiet and peaceful. Derek enjoyed those moments. He wanted to continue to enjoy those moments. But there were certain parts to being a werewolf. Certain things that humans could not inherently understand. Things that needed to be voiced and reasoned and explained.

Unfortunately, he had no time to debate his own hesitation, as they came slapping him in the face. He had not had the time to see much of his family. The pockets of time he had were almost always occupied. Now, given that things had settled, he had more and more free moments. Which meant that Peter was free to disturb him.

“Hello nephew, how fares your day so far?” the question itself was innocuous. But Derek knew a probe when it was presented.

“Quite fine, uncle. Just trying to make things stay in order.”

Derek ruffled through some papers, document, and other various things. Stiles was healed, and his anxieties were alieved. He was trying to focus on his work. As being a prince and a general meant that he had plenty of it. It seemed, however, that Peter had either ideas. As he was still lingering off to the side. That shit eating grin stretched across his face.

“You’ll be needing to speak with him soon.”

“Not now, uncle.” Derek let his tone slip dangerously low. Not even bothering to hide the frustration under the surface.

“Then when, Derek? You’ve taken the man as yours. In flagrant defiance of centuries of tradition. Against, well, everything. It does not change the fact that your rut is coming, and your consort has no idea what that even means.”

The alpha stood from where he was leaning over, marching towards his uncle. Eyes red, and a growl rumbling in his throat. It was not often that he displayed in front of his family. Even after becoming an alpha, he worked hard to control his instincts. Worked hard to keep from being overbearing or domineering. But now, here, with Peter, he didn’t bother to restrain himself.

“And what shall I tell him, uncle? That for three days, I’ll be half-mad? That I’ll want nothing more than to…than to….” He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

“Derek, a man’s rut is nothing to be ashamed of. Neither is a woman’s heat. It is a natural process for our kind, and one that we are never going to be rid of. Sharing it with someone….Spending that time with someone is special, and meaningful. But he needs to understand. And you need to explain that to him.”

He hated Peter, both for being right, and for the fact that he had no idea what to do next. Stiles was human, raised by humans, around humans. He had no idea that werewolves had a mating cycle. That rut was an actual thing. That…That Derek, when it hit, would want to spend it with him. Or the implications that it would mean if they did spend it together.

“He is a grown man, Derek. And a fine looking one. He’s more than likely had his fair share of beddings.”

The alpha growled at his uncle. Who then promptly retreated laughing as he went. Derek was not far behind him. The desire to thrash the man was nearly overwhelming. But so was the thought of Stiles bedding anyone. Alphas…Alphas could be possessive. That was in their nature. The idea that his chosen…He pushed it to the side. The fact that Stiles had a lust before they met was none of his business. What happened next was. And as unpleasant as it may have been to think, or speak about, it needed to be spoken about.

It does not take him long to find Stiles. Even with how large the palace is, and the endless scents that carry through the air, Derek knows his. That strange, wild tinge that could only be the man’s magic. The one that sent shivers down his spine in fear, now, sends a thrill of pleasure through him. It lets him know that his chosen is near. That he is close.

Stiles is in a private chamber. Meant for meetings, or study. Likely to be away from others, and to have some peace. (Erica liked to interrupt whenever she had a free moment.) The alpha politely knocks, not wanting to simply barging in. even though he was a prince, he still had manners.

Stiles is engrossed in what appears to be nearly a dozen different books, and nearly twice that in scrolls. The man had a voracious appetite for knowledge. Even if he did want to be more practical with his studies. But since the incident, Deaton had insisted that he restrain himself, and focus on studying.

Derek wraps himself around Stiles, burying his nose in the man’s neck. Savoring his scent, listening to the steady beating his heart. It was oddly relaxing. More so than he had encountered before. Finding peace so easily with someone. It certain regards, it frightened him. He was never this affectionate with Stiles unless they were alone. Not even when the betas were around. This was their moment, and their tenderness.

The man reciprocates. Running his fingers through Derek’s hair. Lightly scratching at his scalp. He purrs, honest to god purrs. Quite unbecoming of a prince and an alpha. He did not care in the slightest. Stiles did not seem to care very much either.

“You seem worried, my prince.” Even though Derek had told Stiles to call him by his name, on occasion, he would refer to him as his prince. It was there way of affection. One that the man had claimed for his own.

“And what makes you say that, your magic?”

“I don’t need magic to know when you’re thinking. It is the matter of what it is that is to be concerned over.”

Derek lifted his head, meeting Stiles’ eyes. Those great, impossibly bright pools of amber. So much like precious stones, and so wonderful enchanting. He could feel his heart sink to his stomach. Even as he kissed the man. Tasting the sweetness of his lips. The spice that lingered on his skin. He was afraid. Afraid that Stiles might reject him.

“It is a…delicate matter. To be certain. But I would like to discuss it, if you would listen.”

“Always.” Stiles kisses him back. Cupping Derek’s chin in slender, clever fingers. The man resists the urge to growl with pleasure.

He sits, hand in hand with Stiles. Running his thumb over the man’s palm. Feeling the heat of his skin. The weight of the fingers laced together. It was a simple thing. A thing that needed no words, as it said everything within itself.

“What do you know of……” Derek had trouble even asking the question. It was a sickening mix of fear and embarrassment.

“Talk to me, Derek. I’m not going anywhere.”

“What do you know about werewolf mating cycles?”

Stiles’ reactions were not what Derek was expecting. He expected disgust, fear, or even, well, laughter. Instead, a blush creeped along the man’s face. Turning his pale skin an adorable shade of pink. The one that Derek would often tease out of him when they were alone.

“It….It happens every four to six months. For three to five days. It’s…It’s supposed to be a time for copulation, and…procreation.”

“True, but it is also a time for bonding. Spending a rut or a heat with a wolf is something of trust, and acceptance. Not just mindless sex. It is a time…It’s a time when two people can experience each other.”

In truth, it was. But a werewolf in rut did tend to have one thing on the mind. And that was mating. There was more to it than that, but it the main, driving focus. The one instinct that took over and screamed the loudest. That would make his wolf rumble with need and desire. He wanted to be honest about that, but Derek also knew that he wanted…more.

“My first rut as an alpha is…soon. And I was wondering….Would you spend it with me?”

Stiles does not say anything. He does not do anything. He stays perfectly still. Unflinching. Derek can detect no fear, but it was obvious that he was uncomfortable. The alpha knew that it wasn’t an easy topic to discuss. But he wanted to be honest.

“I’ve never….I’ve never…I haven’t been with a man…like that.”

“Neither have I Stiles. There’s no shame in that.” Derek was telling the truth. He had two lovers. Paige and Kate. Both ended in disaster and heartbreak. But he was here, with Stiles, and he was being as honest as he could be.

“There was a girl, back home…We….We were together. Dances and festivals. And when we tried, it didn’t end well.”

“Stiles, I don’t care that you’re a virgin. What I’m asking you, is if you wanted to be with me. In that way. And if you don’t, we don’t have to.” Derek hadn’t looked away from Stiles as he spoke.

“I would like that. Very much, actually. I just didn’t know how to say it. I’m not exactly what one would look for in a lover.”

Derek didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned in. Kissing Stiles as gently as he could manage. He still tasted as sweet as the first time. It was warm and wonderful and more than Derek could ever think it to be. Stiles wrapped his arms around the alpha, pulling them closer together.

“I did not choose you for your looks, but you’re certainly not lacking in that department.”

“Good to know. But…I must confess, I’m not quite a virgin. Just…unexperienced.” Stiles smiled shyly. Derek couldn’t get enough of it.

“Like I said. Rut can be about the sex, if that’s what you want. But it can be so much more. For now, can I just…Can I just spend some time with you? Then, you can give me your answer.”

Stiles chuckles, and kisses Derek. Warmly and sweetly and with all the enthusiasm that he had come to know. To expect. The man did not do anything in halves, and the alpha appreciated that more than most could know. The question now was, could he appreciate it once his rut started? He opted to kiss Stiles again rather than think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason that I keep emphasizing Stiles' abilities, and Derek's worries. I promise, there is an actual point and I'm not just being lazy. Next chapter, SMUT! Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, fluff, and smut. That's literally all this chapter is. Have fun.

Stiles was…well…nervous. Nervous about what had happened. What was to happen. And all the things in-between. Derek had asked him, in a rather seductive way, to be his partner for his rut. Stiles only knew about werewolf mating cycles because of Deaton. He had been training Stiles to be an emissary, and that was, for some odd reason, part of the job.

Namely, if it was to occur between two packs. Where they shared a cycle with each other for the purposes of mating, and creating a child. This, however, was not to be the case. Given that Stiles and Derek were both men, and could not bear children in the first place. That was not what worried him. The actual sex part….that’s what had him in a titsy.

He was by no means a virgin. Back home, away from the more conservative areas, young men and women often enjoyed each other’s company. In each and every way. Stiles may not have had the best experience his first, and only time. It was…uncomfortable. To say the least. And he did not talk about it afterwards. Not even with Derek. Who seemed rather enthused at the idea of them spending that time together.

For the most part, he opted to focus on his studies as Deaton’s student and successor. As well as his title of Earl. Managing land came with certain responsibilities, and that included that fact that he had named Scott a baron. And granted him a portion of the land given to him by the king. For the most part, it was all relatively straightforward. Mostly paperwork and the signing of documents. Now that he had his own official seal, printed and recognized by the crown, things were moving forward.

As far those things went, it kept his mind rather occupied. As well as the people in the palace. Apparently, news that Stiles would Derek’s rut partner spread like wildfire. And these folks liked to gossip like old ladies in the night. He paid not one bit of attention to any of them. But they, indeed, paid plenty of attention to him.

When it was learned that he had magic, and in turn, had used that magic to unknowing foil an assassination attempt, people grew more interested than they had before. After the king granted him land and title, even more so. After he had been announced as Derek’s official consort…even more so than that. Now, that this latest news was out, complete strangers were approaching him.

Their goal was simple. Behind thin smiles, and a façade of welcomeness, Stiles knew that they wanted. Which was the details of his and Derek’s planned intimacy. He brushed them off. Skirting the conversation into another, non-related direction. They absolutely hated him for it. And they were not the only ones.

Two days after he and Derek had spoken, Cora Hale had cornered him in an abandoned hallway. Leaving no room for an interpretation that she was there to be friendly. The conversation was short, and to the point. Wherein if Stiles attempted any harm towards Derek, there would be consequences. Very long, painful, agonizing consequences. Stiles may have now been an Earl, but she was a princess. Even as the youngest, he could still find himself on the rack.

Peter was the next one to speak to him. That was not a surprise. Given the man’s inherent interest in him since his arrival in the capital. What did surprise Stiles, was how forward and open the man was. In the past conversations they had shared, Peter had been elusive, playful, and coy. This time he was straight to the point, and did not mince words. And while he did not out and out threaten Stiles as Cora had done, the message was clear.

They left on good terms, and Peter wished Stiles luck with a cheeky smile on his face. He had no idea what luck had to do with anything. Given what was to come, luck had absolutely nothing to do with. But he did not question the man’s words. And departed as quickly as he could.

On the actual day, the day where Derek’s rut was to begin, Stiles was dragged from his chambers. The servants who did the dragging said nothing. When they arrived at the royal bathing chambers, Stiles was thrown into a tub of pleasantly warm water. It was, unlike other times, perfumed.

Much to his chagrin, the chamber maids began scrubbing him down with a mild soap. Completely ignoring his sounds of protest. He had gotten rather tired of being bathed by others when he was perfectly capable of it himself. They did not care in the slightest.

When it was done, and he was sufficiently dried, they dressed him…well…clothes unbecoming of man for his station. It was a pair of simple trousers, and thin, unremarkable tunic. He had worn these things back town. He in no way looked anything like an Earl. He didn’t like anything like someone who would be found in the employ of the palace. It was rather comforting, if he was honest with himself.

“His Highness is waiting for you.”

Stiles did not know which of the chamber maids had said it. As they had all dismissed themselves as soon as they were done. At the very least, he knew that Derek was not the one that had sent them in the first place. The man was not so uncaring or indignant.

The halls were blissfully empty as he made his way across the palace. Whether by purpose, or by chance, he did not know. He was just grateful for it. Given that later today, the denizens of the palace would be gossiping more than ever. He tried to pull those thoughts from his mind, and focus on Derek. And the time they would be spending together.

When he opens the doors to the man’s chambers, he is wrapped in a tight, unyielding embrace. Derek had, quite literally, leapt from the bed, and made his way over towards Stiles. Face buried his neck. Rumbling low in his throat. It was something between a purr and a growl. Not threatening in the slightest, and Stiles found himself oddly comforted by it.

“Good morning, Highness. I take it you missed me?”

“Wanted to come find you. Couldn’t.” Derek’s face was still buried in his neck.

“And why’s that?”

“It is considered…uncouth to walk about when one is in rut. So, I waited.”

Stiles had to stifle a laugh. The man had not come and found him because he was embarrassed. It was a rather amusing thing to think about. The prince being embarrassed. About the fact that he was just as nervous as Stiles was about all of this. It was, amongst everything else, reassuring.

“Well, you have to wait no longer my prince. I’m right here. And with no plans of going anywhere.”

He ran his hands the other man’s hair. Gently stroking his head. Assuring him, that, in fact, he had no plans to go anywhere. Stiles had read plenty on the subject of werewolf mating cycles. (Information was invaluable with these kinds of things.) And in doing so, had learned plenty.

There were, of course, the standard stereotypes where alphas were concerned. Aggression. Possessiveness. Displays, so and so forth. But they also felt the intense need to physical contact. Not just sex, but actual assurance that their chosen partner was there, and was not going to leave. That they were there, and were staying. Derek seemed responsive to this. If what he did next was any indication.

Wherein he lifted Stiles from where he stood. Hauling him up with a grunt, and walked them towards the bed. He lays Stiles down, ripping off the thin tunic he had been placed in. given that it was not one of his own personal ones, the man did not mind all that much. Derek was much more occupied.

He moved Stiles’ hands above his head, holding them there. After which, he ran his tongue along Stiles’ underarm. Rubbing his face as he went. It only tickled a little. And was surprisingly erotic. Given the nature of its location. Stiles feel heat pool in his groin. And his face went hot. Derek seemed rather pleased with himself. Given that he kept on doing it.

That’s how they lay for most of the afternoon. With Derek licking and nipping and rubbing. Stiles knew what the alpha was doing. Scent marking. Making sure that Stiles carried Derek’s essence and that no other wolf would dare approach him. He did not mind in the slightest.

When a servant brought trays of food, Stiles was the one to receive it. Derek whine, actually whined when they separated. This time, he did laugh. It was too hard not to. When he got back to the bed, the alpha wrapped himself loosely around Stiles. Nuzzling the crook of his shoulder. Just breathing. Just breathing.

It was an odd thing. How affectionate the man was. On their previous times together, they had held hands, and of course, kissed. Even in private, they had not done much more than that. In public, Derek was reserved, as was required of his station. Now, here, together, the man seemed to have no restraints. Stiles did not mind in the slightest.

He feeds Derek a bit of apple and cheese. The act of which seemed far more intimate than they had done so far. The alpha accepts it gratefully. Happily purring in the back of his throat as he does so. They eat like that. Taking small bites, and drinking freshly pressed juice. Derek is…receptive to the pampering that Stiles gives him. Except when the trays needed to be taken away.

The sun had started to set, and the day was just about done. Derek was more active, and far more tactile than when Stiles had first arrived. Like when he received the food, Derek whines like a bereaved child when he gets up. He opens the doors, leaving the leftovers outside in the hall to be taken by a servant when they passed by. When he enters back, he finds himself pinned to the door. An alpha werewolf breathing heavily into his neck.

***

Derek had been restraining himself since Stiles’ arrival. The mere scent of the man made his cock swell. But, in light that Stiles had never been with a man, let alone an alpha in rut, he did not engage in that. He did, however, cover every inch of the man in his scent. At least the parts that involved his trousers staying on.

He did not resist, and discourage Derek from doing so. In fact, he seemed rather responsive to his affections. If the spiciness that bleed into his scent was any indicator. A low grade lust emanated from the other man. He was enjoying Derek pressed against him. Enjoying being marked as his. That only spurred him on further.

When the good arrived, Derek was aggrieved at the mere seconds they were apart. When Stiles came back to the bed, he wrapped around the other man. He laughed. Bright and clear and wonderful. He then fed Derek, by hand, little bits of food. He could feel his wolf purr in satisfaction. Normally, an alpha took this action with their chosen. With their mate. To receive food was an act of submission. One that he was happy to partake in.

As the day grew longer, and the sun set ever further, Derek felt his self-control diminish. His wolf wanted more. More and more and even more still. Regardless, he ignored it. Holding Stiles to him, enjoying the warmth of the other man. It did not last long. When the man left to take the food away, Derek’s wolf was _howling_.

The man barely had any time to reenter the chambers before Derek had him against the door. Hands above his head, face buried in his chest. He stayed there, listening to the man’s heart. Steady and sure. Unbreaking and unyielding. It was an odd comfort. Given how far gone his control already was.

“You can tell me to stop. You can leave, and I will not follow.”

Derek’s words were honest. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to have Stiles naked, laid bare. Sliding his hands and mouth were he so pleased. Listening to the breathy moans the man gave off as words escaped him. That, truthfully, is what he wanted. But not without the other man’s assurance first.

In the absence of words, Stiles slips on his hands out from Derek’s grasp. Taking him by the chin. Making it to where they were eye to eye. The alpha knew that his were red. It was the only part of his shift that he had not been able to control. Stiles was not deterred. Even as he pressed his lips to Derek. Kissing him in the gentlest way. He could feel his wolf sing.

“I would prefer to stay here. But as I’ve never….I’ve never been with a man. Let alone an alpha. You’ll have to tell me what you want.”

Derek growled. Low and deep. Stiles had no intention of leaving. Even though he had every right to. Even though he could walk at the door, and Derek would be powerless to follow him. It was the sexiest thing he could have said. Asking Derek what he wanted.

He did not answer. At least, not in words. He simply kissed the other man. Releasing his other hand, allowing him to be touched. Stiles was…hesitant. Careful, and delicate. As if Derek was made of porcelain. It was appreciated. The tenderness of it. He, decidedly, was a bit more enthused on the matter.

He ran hands along Stiles’ sides. Feeling the muscles of his torso twitch with pleasure and anticipation. Stiles kissed him again. Slowly. Softly. As if they had all time in the world. He tasted like spring. Bright, clean, and warm. Derek did not resist when the man undid the laces his trousers. Nor did Stiles when he did the same. He could smell the man’s arousal. That rich, sharp spice that made Derek’s spine tingle.

He had never seen Stiles naked before. The man had been present when Derek dressed, but always averted their gazes from one another. The alpha had longed to see the man. Underneath layers of clothes, and pompery, lay the body of a worker. Stiles was lithe, but built. Firm and taught. But most of all, the thing that enticed Derek the most, was his cock.

“Fuck.”

That’s all he could say. Ever since they had spoken on the matter, Derek had longed to strip him naked. To see him laid bare for all he was. To see what lay underneath all the layers that he wore. What he was met with, in no way, disappointed.

Stiles was…endowed. Very well endowed. Derek took his cock in hand, giving him several, easy strokes. Teasing, and nothing more. The man hissed. Closing his eyes. Derek released, him. Rubbing their members together. The alpha was even further aroused when they were compared.

He had been engorged for days. Cock swollen and, at the height of the moon, leaking. During rut, he was, well, large. He held no shame in that. But Stiles…Even next to Derek, aroused, and barely keeping his control…the man was far larger. Long, thick, and with the slightest drop of precome beading at the head of his cock. Derek purred.

“Jesus, Stiles. Can I…Can I taste you?”

“You’re not…put off.” Stiles’ face was flushed and red. But not with arousal. There was a sourness to his scent. He was embarrassed.

“Why, for any reason, why this put me off?”

“It’s…back home. The girl I was with…she found it…unsightly.” Stiles could not look him in the face as he spoke.

Derek growled again. Angry and upset that someone had dared to call the beauty of Stiles’ cock unsightly. It was certainly the largest cock Derek had ever seen. He had been raised a soldier, and seen his men naked plenty of times. But this…this was something else. And he fully intended to show Stiles just how much he enjoyed it.

He kisses the man once more before dropping to his knees. Burying his face in the man’s sack. Savoring the soft, sweet musk of his cock. Saving the virility of it. Had Stiles been with a woman, he would have fathered many sons. But he wasn’t with a woman. He was with Derek. And he had it all to himself.

When licks a stripe up the man’s length, he presses forward. Cock twitching in surprise. Standing full and erect. Flushed dark with blood, and now leaking even more. Derek takes the man into his mouth. Savoring the saltiness the spreads across his tongue. Stiles’ hands find his hair. Not pulling, but holding him there. Not that Derek had any intention of letting the man’s cock go. At least, not yet.

He starts slow. Working his way down the girth of the man. Which was no small task. Given how he was both long, and thick. Derek had never been with a man. Certainly never had another man’s cock in his mouth. This was a first time for both of them. But his wolf growled, demanding that they please their mate.

Stiles keeps perfectly still as Derek works his cock downwards. He does, however, jump ever so slightly when the alpha takes his balls in hand. He rolled the man around in his hand. Adding to the sensation. Stiles was no longer even trying to be quiet. He was a squirming, vocal mess. Bucking his hips in little, aborted thrusts. Trying his best to keep from fucking Derek’s face.

The alpha, undeterred, grabs the man’s ass. Briefly massaging the fullness of his cheeks before pulling him forward. Pushing the man’s cock even further down his throat. Stiles cried out in pleasure. Leaning forward over the alpha. Pressing himself down even further. The man chokes. Coughing the length of the man presses against his throat. He does not stop.

“Derek…I’m…Fuck!”

The alpha purrs as the tries to swallow even more of the man. Trying to suck him down to the root. It is not easy, but he manages. For a few, brief moments, Stiles’ cock is fully seated in his throat. He holds him there. No pressed into the dark curls of his groin. The rich, virile musk of it makes Derek cock jump.

Stiles is barely able to stay standing. His toes have started to curl. Derek knows he’s close. So, he does not bother with being slow or gentle or careful. He releases the man’s cock from his mouth. Giving him only a few moments of reprieve. Then, he sucks him back down.

Stiles comes but seconds later. His body keeling over, hands on Derek’s shoulders. The alpha does not release him. Swallowing ever last drop as his own cock paints thick, white stripes. He can barely keep himself upright, and Stiles in his mouth. The first orgasm of his rut rippling through him without mercy.

When the both of them are done quivering, and able to make sense of the world again, Derek is back to his feet. Kissing Stiles as if he might never be able to kiss him again. The man does not seem to care that his seed still lingers in Derek’s mouth. Which makes it all the better.

“Did you…Just from?”

“This cock is mine, and I assure, that I, in no way, was put off. As you can clearly see.”

“Clearly.” Stiles smiled, and Derek kissed him again. Picking him up off the floor, his still hard cock pressing again the alpha’s belly. He would have to try very hard to see if he could get it to go soft. He wondered just how he would do that as they made it to the bed. Stiles underneath him, panting and smelling like the greatest thing in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love good blowjob scene? Am I right? One of my favorite headcannons is that Stiles is seriously packing, and that Derek loves every single inch of it. Next chapter, more smut. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. That's it. 3,500 words of smut. Enjoy ya'll.

Derek was, in a word, ravenous. Not for food, or any kind of drink. No, that was not the hunger that was currently consuming him. No, it was the taste of Stiles. The smell of him. The feel of him. Every never in the alpha’s body was alight with tension, and unforgiving need. The sheer _want_ of it was staggering. He had been through rut every year since he was a young man. But this time, his first rut as an alpha…it was more than he had expected.

When the first stages began it had been…bearable. A general restlessness. Something that came with every man’s rut. The desire to run and hunt. If anything, it was only slightly stronger than when he had been a beta. So, he thought everything was going to be fine. But as the day wore onward, he had learned that was not the case.

Stiles often spent long hours in Derek’s chambers. When the both of them had the time of course. There were traces of his scent. On Derek’s bed, the clothes…everywhere. Stiles’ himself had a musk that Derek savored like nothing else. When in rut, as it began to heighten, it nearly drove him mad.

He had fucked into his hand three times before lunch had arrived. Even more before Stiles arrived. But when the man actually did show…when he came to see Derek…things were better. The rampant, uncontrolled burning in his loins was calm. There was the urge, yes. But even in that, he wanted nothing more than to hold Stiles. To have him close, and to never let him go.

As the day faded into the evening, and the sun dipped below the horizon, Derek felt himself grow hotter and hotter. The wolf may have calmed when Stiles had arrived, but now, saturated in the man’s scent…surrounded by it…he wanted. He wanted, relentlessly. It did not help that Stiles was exceptionally dotting. He fed Derek, by hand. He _provided_. Derek’s wolf howled with delight.

When the servants came to take the food away, when he saw Stiles walk towards the door…the stretching of muscles in his back and arms and legs beneath all that thin, very easily torn fabric…He couldn’t resist. Scenting him. Touching him. Having him. When the man’s trousers came off, he wasted no time at all.

The man’s cock was marvelous. Long. Thick. Leaking. He swallowed him down in a fury, relished in the taste that he was rewarded with. The intensity of it brought him to his own climax without every even touching his own cock. Which, was amazing, and did not one thing to relieve him of the ache in his groin. He was still unrelentingly hard, and he wanted…well…more.

When he regained the feeling in his legs, and his wolf managed to calm, however slight, he picked Stiles up. The other man wrapped his legs around Derek’s middle. Clinging to him. Heartrate through the roof, but unafraid. Derek lays them down on the bed, spreading himself over the other man. Pressing him down. Burying his face in the man’s underarm.

After taking Stiles’ cock into his mouth, working him, exciting him, a sheen of sweat had beaded across the man’s body. Derek savored the spice of it. The slick salt of his skin. The soft hair that sprouted there. He rubbed his face on every inch he could reach. Marking him. Making sure that Stiles reeked of him. To let the world know that he belonged to Derek.

The other man did not protest. Did not give any objections. If anything, he seemed to enjoy the attention that Derek slathered him with. Lifting his arm higher to give the alpha better access. In return, he ran his tongue along the man’s underarm. Relishing the salt that spread across his mouth. When he is satisfied, he moves to the man’s other side. Doing the same. When he finishes there, Stiles’ scent has become intertwined with Derek’s own. He could feel his wolf rumble in pleasure.

After that, he moved wherever he could face, chest, and torso. Wherever Stiles would let him touch, he did. Marking him without so much as a single ounce of shame or apology. The other man could hardly keep still. He squirmed and writhed. Breathing like a madman under Derek’s fingers and tongue. He loved it. Relished it. Demanded it.

When he reached the man’s balls again, Derek wasted no time in burying his face in them. Marking the man’s cock with his scent. Claiming his cock as his property. Stiles nearly moved away from Derek. But the alpha held him still. Taking the barest hint of the head into his mouth. Teasing. Working. Exploiting. The sounds Stiles made would be well worth it.

“Derek…”

“Mine.” The alpha growled.

He swallows Stiles down to the root. Gagging and choking. He releases the other man after only a few seconds. He wasn’t well practiced in this, but he was determined to make sure Stiles knew that he belonged to Derek. That he was his, and no one else’s. What he wanted, however, was more.

“Can I fuck you?” The question was honest, and straightforward. But still, asking it terrified him.

“At this point, do you have to ask?” Stiles dragged the alpha upwards, kissing him softly.

“I might…shift. Partially. Rut can be…testing for one’s control.”

“As long as you don’t scratch or bite me, I have no problem with you putting your cock in me.”

The alpha growled louder than he ever had. He kissed Stiles with restraint. Keeping his wolf at bay. He could feel it try and rise to the surface. To bare its fangs in claiming. But Stiles was not a wolf. And he would not appreciate being treated as one. Even he had been a wolf, Derek was not an animal, and would not behave like one.

He manages to kiss Stiles again while rummaging through the table by his bedside. Just before his rut was due to begin, he managed to secure a large amount of oil. The kind used for such things. He had never been with another man, but he had heard…stories. Of what was needed, and the proper methods to ensure that his partner would fully enjoy the process.

He doesn’t bother being neat, or tidy about it. He simply uncorks the bottle, and slathers his fingers. Shivering as the slick substance spreads across them. Stiles doesn’t even jump when Derek finds his hole. Warm, and peppered with downy hair. He wanted nothing more to bury his tongue it. Taking apart the other man, and tasting the most intimate parts of him.

But he knew that his wolf was restless, and his control was already on the edge of a knife. Rushing, moving too quickly could hurt both of them. And that’s that last thing Derek wanted. Rut was about intimacy and pleasure and bonding. Fucking into Stiles as a mindless beast would defeat all of those purposes. And he had no intention of doing so.

When the first finger slips inside, Stiles doesn’t breathe. He lays there. Eyes shut, and hands gripping Derek’s hair like a man with a prayer. Then, he breathes. Soft and slow. Relaxed as Derek presses further inside. He is warm and tight and his. The alpha can feel his wolf howl. He wanted more. And he wanted it quickly. But he did not rush.

The second finger, Stiles starts to squirm ever so slightly. Derek presses past his knuckles, burying his digits in the other man. He can smell the man’s arousal. It was new and exciting and thrilling. There was a gorgeous tinge of red in his cheeks. Cock dark with blood, and rock hard. Derek had to resist the urge to put it back in his mouth.

“Derek….” Stiles seemed as if he could barely breathe by the time he added the third finger. The alpha just kisses him.

When he can feel Stiles’ muscles relax, he extracts his fingers, slowly. Deliberately. The other man whines in displeasure. The alpha wastes no time in replacing his fingers with a well-oiled cock. He presses himself down over Stiles. Holding him. The man breathes into the wolf’s neck. Hard, and hot and restless. Derek does not move.

The first thrust sends a shock through him. His cock surrounded by tight, unrelenting heat. Stiles wraps his legs around the alpha. Pressing his heels into the man’s ass. Encouraging. Demanding. The alpha complies, fucking into the man with hard, sharp motions. The force of which sends Stiles upwards. Cascading towards the bed. Derek can feel the man’s cock pressed between them. Hard, leaking, desperate for touch.

When he comes, he can feel his wolf howl. With one final thrust, he buries his cock to the hilt inside Stiles. Painting the man’s insides with his seed. He cannot move. He cannot breathe. Then, he lifts himself, looking at the man beneath him. Sweaty, flushed, gorgeous. He kisses him. Softly. Sweetly. As if he is the most precious thing in the world. Then, he bends down, keeping himself buried in Stiles, and takes his cock into his mouth. The man lasts only seconds before Derek tastes his seed coating his mouth. He swallows every last drop.

***

Stiles’ first time having sex, well, his firsts successful time, went…amazing. Derek had been enthusiastic from the get go. And from the get go, when he could no longer bear anything other than Stiles, he seemed…hungry. Stiles had been naked in front of plenty of people in his life. But not when his cock was hard. The girl back home had been….disgusted. Derek, on the other hand, had been the exact opposite. As he took Stiles into his mouth, and sucked down every last inch of him.

Derek fucked him on the bed. Soft, hesitant at first. Almost as if he was afraid. The alpha was in rut, and his control was…unstable. Any reasonable, sane, level-headed person would have been terrified. Stiles…not so much. He never had any inclination that he was in any danger whatsoever. And when Derek himself realized this, he fucked Stiles as if he meant it.

The closeness of it seemed to break him. The pressure of it. The power of it. Of sharing that kind of thing with someone. Having Derek thrust into him, trying to hold them ever closer. So much that they seemed to nearly fuse. When the alpha comes, Stiles can feel it with his entire body. Derek collapses on top of him briefly, then, he kisses Stiles as if he was a work of art.

He didn’t have long to recover before the man, still buried to the hilt in Stiles’ ass, bent down, taking his cock in his mouth. The man didn’t bother to try and restrain himself. He released in seconds. Unable and unwilling to hold himself back. Derek seemed to enjoy every minute of it.

They bathe after that. Together. In Derek’s personal tub. Stiles heats the water, as the alpha noses impatiently at his neck. Gently stroking his cock with still slick fingers. They come together again before they even make it into the tub. And even then, Derek actually tries to take his cock in mouth underwater. Stiles had to get the alpha to restrain himself. If only slightly.

They don’t linger in the bath, and Stiles managed to get the both back in the bed. Derek, having finally calmed down. Kept his hands to himself, and happily laid down beside Stiles. Purring happily in this throat. Wrapping around the other man, and encasing him in two hundred pounds of searing hot werewolf. Stiles was not entirely uncomfortable. They sleep well, and restfully. The lullaby of Derek’s breathing is as soothing as siren.

When he wakes, Stiles can feel…pressure. Pressure and heat. When he manages to open his eyes, Derek is atop of him. Sliding their cocks together at a maddening pace. No restraint. No patience. Just sliding their members together in a sharp, hard thrusts that nearly sends Stiles into the headboard. Derek’s breathing is heavy, and labored. As if he had just been running.

“Derek…” He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else. The alpha kisses him heavily, teeth clacking together. Hands wrap around his middle biting into his flesh. Sharp, piercing points. A stark contrast to the pleasurable friction engulfing his cock.

When the alpha comes, his whole body shudders. Spraying thick, hot stripes all over his front. Slathering Stiles’ crotch in his seed. After which, the alpha falls atop him. Breathless. Hot. And sheened with sweat. He runs his fingers through the wolf’s hair. Soothing his excitedness. It does not work. Derek had been still only seconds before he raised his head. Eyes a fierce, unrelenting crimson. Mouth distorted ever so slightly with fangs.

Stiles tries to kiss the man, but it suddenly found in absence. Derek leaps, literally leaps from the bed. Flinging himself to the opposite wall. Face turned away in shame. Stiles could tell that much. He probably hadn’t even realized that he had shifted. Hadn’t realized that he had almost kissed Stiles with fangs in his mouth. Not that he would have minded kissing Derek in that state.

“You should go.”

Derek’s words slice sharply and mercilessly. And Stiles didn’t know what to say.

“I….”

“You almost got hurt. I didn’t even realize what I was doing and…..You could have been hurt.”

Derek was facing him now, but his eyes were downcast. Facing the floor. Ashamed and hurt and afraid. He was convince that he had violated Stiles in some way. That he had come close to harming him. but that was the furthest from the truth. In fact, Stiles enjoyed the alpha’s enthusiasm. But he knew that the man was convinced, and that he would not listen to reason. So, he didn’t use reason. He used his cock.

When he grips himself, he makes sure to play a show. Breathing deep. Spreading Derek’s come across the full length of his member. Ignoring the tackiness of it, Stiles jerked himself in slow, languid motions that were meant to tantalize. And tantalize it did. Because Derek eyes shot back up, nostrils flared. Eyes an unrelenting red. Stiles played it even further, tilting his head up. Exposing the length of his neck. That…that really got Derek’s attention.

It took only a matter of seconds. And then, Derek was back on the bed. Pressed against Stiles. Kissing him like a dying man craved air. Stiles laughed slightly and softly. Derek’s still clawed fingertips raked down his side. Barely there marks. A touch of pain mixed with pleasure.

“We shouldn’t….You shouldn’t…

“Do you trust me?” Stiles asked. They were barely an inch apart. Derek’s mouth full of fangs. The both of them breathing as if it might be there last.

“Yes…But the problem is that I don’t trust myself.”

“I do. You haven’t hurt me, and you won’t. But if you do trust me, trust that I’ll take care of you, then can you do something for me?”

“What?” Derek looked like a man who had entreated to god, hoping for…something.

“Lay on your stomach, sourwolf.”

Stiles watches Derek’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows. There’s a twinge of fear in his eyes. Something that makes him go pale, if only for a second. Then, he complies with what Stiles asks. Spreading himself across the bed, departing with a chaste kiss on the man’s cheek.

He greatly enjoyed seeing Derek’s form, prone and willing. Trusting. The full swell of his ass on display. Covered with dark hair. A man’s ass. Through and through. When he kisses the top of his spine, Derek shivers. Stiles presses down on the man’s shoulders. Holding him still. Holding him still as he moves further and further down. When he reaches the crack of his ass. Derek whines. Silently begging. Stiles obliges.

Derek’s hole is a thing of beauty. One he gets a full view of as he spreads the man open. That dark, furled pucker twitches before even Stiles touches it. It damn near dances when he runs the first swipe of his tongue over it. He licks Derek from taint to crack in one swoop.

“FUCK!” the alpha presses himself back. Forcing the swell of his ass into Stiles’ face. The man grabs the wolf’s hips, keeping him there. Fucking him with his tongue.

“I….don’t stop.” Derek sounds out of breath as he speaks.

Stiles had never done this before. Only heard…stories. He figured he was doing something right. Given that Derek was practically unable to keep still. Hands curled into the sheet. Claws ripping into the fabric with every swipe of his tongue. Broken little pleas that made little or no sense. He continued to work the man with his tongue, but when he added a finger, that’s when Derek really lost it.

Stiles presses in further, slowly. Carefully. Calmly. Tongue alongside his fingertip. The alpha seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Now, he was simply a mess of hot, ragged breathing. Stiles pressed his face further into the swell of the man’s ass. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but he knew he was doing it well enough.

He broke, only for a moment. To find the bottle of oil Derek had used earlier. When his digits were sufficiently slathered, he pressed them back into the alpha. Derek’s body tensed as Stiles fucked into him with slender precision. Slowly, wonderfully, completely. The alpha keened, wordlessly begging for more.

By the third finger, Derek had damn near fully shifted. He was more wolf than man now, but there was not a trace of fear in Stiles. In fact, in some strange, animalistic way, he enjoyed it. That Derek, regal, composed, hardnosed Derek, was this out of control. And he hadn’t even fucked him yet.

When he extracts his fingers, the alpha’s hole quivers. Searching for something to fill it. Stiles gives it his cock. One inch at a time. When he had tried this back home, it had not ended well. The girl was….unsettled and erratic. But Derek…Derek was calm. Willing. Receptive. He pushed forward with as much composure as he could manage. Even when all he wanted was to fuck into Derek with wild abandon.

“If you don’t hurry….”

“I…fuck Derek…I want this, but I want it to be good.”

When he’s finally seated, buried to the root in Derek, he clasps the wolf by the back his neck. Holding him there. Stiles had no illusion that the alpha was in any way under his control. It would take but a moment for the man to simply throw Stiles off of him, and be done with it. But he didn’t. He stayed perfectly still.

The first thrust earns him a hearty, shameless moan. Derek grabs the meat of Stiles’ ass. Asking, demanding that he move. He does. At first, slow. Easy. Deliberate. But he can feel that self-control wavering. Can feel the heat pooling in his spine. When he picks up the pace, Derek pushed back even more. Demanding to be mounted.

Stiles gives up the pretense. Grabbing his hips and fucking into him with sharp, pointed thrusts. Derek breaths in and out at a rapid pace. Hands grasped around his cock as Stiles pounds harder and harder. He can feel his toes start to curl. That heat spreading.

He grabs Derek by his hair, forcing him upward. Hand coiled around his throat, he turns the man’s head. Kissing him softly as he fucks him fiercely. The alpha’s fangs are difficult to work around, but not impossible. He avoids biting into Stiles’ lips. Securing the back of his head. Forcing them to stay together.

When Stiles comes, he damn near passes out. With one final thrust, he buries himself in Derek. Painting his insides with his seed. The alpha shudders, coming just seconds later. Ruining what was left of the sheets. Not that they couldn’t just get new ones.

They collapse together. Stiles draped across Derek’s back. Cock still buried firmly in the man’s ass. Seated there. He was still harder than a rock. So, he turns them on their sides. Fucking into him with slow motions. Careful, as he was still overstimulated. Even with the overbearing of sensation, he continues. Gripping the other man’s cock without an ounce of shame.

The alpha growls in such a bestial way that any other man would’ve been afraid. It only spurred Stiles on further. He was still keyed from his orgasm just minutes earlier. He comes embarrassingly fast. But so does Derek. Stripping his front with an impressive amount of seamen. Stiles just holds him there. Kissing him the softest way he could manage.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does. Cock still buried in Derek. Wrapped around the man that he had just fucked as thoroughly as he could possibly manage. Truthfully, Stiles would have preferred to go back to the bath. To wash the come and sweat from themselves. But he was too blissed out to care. Derek seemed the same. As any movement away from the man earned him a hearty growl of disapproval. Oh well, they could always bathe in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was so glorious. I enjoyed writing, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Next chapter, we're approaching the end game. The things that are working in the shadows, will come to the light. As always, thanks for reading, and much love.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly smutt, with some feels and some serious angst towards the end.

Derek was…content. Wild, but content. He had awoken, cock swollen and aching like it had never done before. Even with his other ruts, it was never this bad. But this time, with Stiles, his wolf was…unhinged. He had spread himself atop the other man, half-shifted. Barely in control. Rutting, and sliding their cocks together.

Stiles had woken halfway through, and Derek had been overjoyed. Thrusting heavily over him, coming in thick, hot spurts over the man’s cock. Painting him with his seed. Marking him. The joy of it had only lasted a second. Then, he was fleeing. Ashamed. Terrified. He had told Stiles to leave. Fearing that he may not be able to control himself. The man had other ideas.

He laid back. Taking a relaxed, easy position. Head tilted to the side, exposing the long expanse of his neck. Slowly, easily, teasingly, he gave his massive girth a few languid strokes. Using Derek’s come to ease the process. The alpha had been unable to resist. Unable to keep himself from that glorious sight.

Derek laid himself across Stiles, kissing him. With as much ease, and control as he could muster. The wolf was at the surface. Growling. Restless. Then, Stiles asked of him the one thing that Derek had denied others. To trust him. There was a moment of tension. A moment of doubt, and then…he relented. What followed, was entirely worth it.

Stiles was…enthused. Enthused and meticulous. He slathered his tongue over Derek’s hole with an unrestrained fever. The alpha could hardly keep himself still. The first finger set his nerves on fire. Cock leaking a steady stream onto the bed. He was shaking, but in the best possible way.

When Stiles slides his cock inside, the alpha damn near howls. He pressed back. Wanting the full brunt of the man’s length. His mate obliges him, mounting Derek in earnest. Fucking into him with sharp, precise motions. Shaking the bed. The hiss of pain-pleasure makes Derek’s head spin. He can’t get enough of it.

They come together, and Derek can feel the man’s cock pulse inside him. Painting his walls in hot stripes of seed. But it wasn’t over yet. Stiles turned them on their sides. Cock still buried in the alpha, and fucking into him with the easiest of motions. A hand around his length, bringing him to his next orgasm within minutes. It was even better than the first.

They sleep like that. With Stiles’ cock buried in Derek. The alpha uncaring, and unwilling to move. His wolf wanted nothing else but stillness. When the morning rises, he can feel his wolf stir. Wanting, yet again, the taste and feel of his mate. But Derek shoved the beast’s urges aside. He was human as well, and had very human needs. Which included a bath and breakfast.

They bathe together. Submerged in warm, perfumed water. It settles Derek’s bones, and eases the tension that had built in his spine. Stiles is blissful and flushed. Marble skin tinged pink with the heat of the water. Derek could have spent eternity just watching the expression on the man’s face.

They eat with languid ease. Stiles is fully indulgent towards Derek’s neediness. His desire for affection and affirmation. He takes food from the man’s hand, and he does it happily. He can feel his wolf purr with delight. His mate was _providing._ It was an instinctual thing. A singular thing. 

It wasn’t long before Derek felt his loins stir in earnest again. That fire spreading through his cock, and down into his legs. Demanding that he touch Stiles. To taste him. The man falls down into the bed with no resistance. And allows the alpha to mark him. Easy, slow, and deliberate. When he takes Stiles into his mouth, the sounds he makes only spur Derek on further. 

Stiles, never one to be complacent or simple, rolls onto his belly. Exposing the great swell of his ass to the alpha. Presenting the thing that he had wanted since the first night. Derek is slow, and careful. The first swipe of his tongue makes the other man shudder. The entirety of his body rumbles with pleasure and anticipation.

He relishes the scent of Stiles here. Dark, rich, and unrelenting. He grabs the man’s hips, pulling him closer. Unable to resist. The alpha rubs his face in the man’s cheeks. Marking his hole with his scent. Stile presses back, moaning in the most unrestrained way possible.

The alpha finds the oil, generously coating his fingers. Taking as much time as possible to open the man up. His hole offers no resistance. Stiles breathes heavily, and Derek presses further. The man is…impatient. He wants it, and he wants it now. But he also wanted to take his time. An even, steady pace. Stiles seemed to appreciate it.

When Derek slips his cock into the other man, neither one of them could breathe. Neither one of them could move. For a few, brief seconds, they were unmoving. Then, Derek thrust forward. Burying himself into Stiles. Pressing against his back. Mounting him. Taking him.

His mate presses back, demanding more. The alpha gives it. Fucking into him with no restraint. Allowing the wolf to simmer at the surface. Just close enough, but not so much that he shifted completely. Stiles may have been enjoying being fucked, but he was not a wolf or an animal. And Derek wanted him to enjoy every last second of their bodies being pressed together.

He comes embarrassingly fast. Unable to hold back. Spilling his seed inside the other man. Pumping in little, aborted thrusts. Ensuring that the entirety of his come enters the man. Marking him. Claiming him. Everyone would know who Stiles belonged to.

He did not have long to enjoy his bliss, as Stiles wrapped hand around his length. Stroking himself in fast, furious motions. Derek growled loudly. Flipping them over. Stiles on his back, hands behind his head. Pinned their by the alpha. Face fallen, a low whine in his throat.

“ _Mine!”_

Derek had never been all that possessive or territorial. Not as a beta, and not when he became an alpha. But here, now, with Stiles…that cock belonged to him. As well as what came from it. Stiles did not move and Derek kept still. He wasn’t angry. Just….authorative.

He slicks the man’s cock in a generous amount of oil. More so than was really necessary. But he could feel his wolf rumble with impatience. The full brunt of his shift creeping up, threatening to rear its head. Derek could understand his eyes changing, and maybe his fangs. But he wasn’t about to completely shift and try to engage in anything further.

He lowers himself onto the man’s cock slowly. Exhaling as the man’s girth stretches his hole. It would have been a better idea to open himself first, but Derek couldn’t resist the urge. Couldn’t hold anything back. His wolf was barely restrained as it was.

He watches as Stiles’ eyes flutter shut. Head going back, and sucking in a sharp, ragged breath. Derek eased himself down further, letting his body take the entirety of Stiles’ length. Easy. Willing. When he’s fully seated, he takes a moment. One, single moment of nothingness. Then, he moves. Pressing down onto the man’s thighs. Fucking himself on Stiles’ cock.

The other man grabs the alpha’s hips. Securing him. As if he had any intention of leaving. He thrusts upwards, fucking into Derek with slow, fluid motions. The alpha can feel the man’s cock swell even further. Pressing further into his insides. Sliding over that treasured sweet spot.

The alpha’s vision went blurry at the edges. There didn’t seem to be enough air. The world tilted on its head, and he fucked himself on Stiles cock even further. The other man kept thrusting upwards. Pushing himself deeper and deeper into Stiles. When he comes, Derek holds himself there as the man empties himself into the alpha.

Spent and exhausted, he collapses atop Stiles. Kissing him sweetly. Tasting the salt that had gathered on his lips. Savoring the scent of their and their sex. Their mingled scent. So entangled that no one could even begin to tell them apart. Which was exactly what he wanted.

That’s how they spend the rest of his rut. Fucking, and being fucked. Bathing, and eating. Holding each other. Enjoying each other. Every last part of one another. Derek’s wolf gradually calmed down. Resting, and satisfied. Stiles was indulgent to every last part of the alpha’s desires. When his rut finally broke, it pained him, actually caused him distress to be away from Derek.

But they both had their responsibilities to attend to. Stiles had to resume his training with Deaton. Learning and growing to one day take the position. He had little doubt that his mate would excel, and make an excellent replacement. Even still, he wanted nothing more than to go back to bed, and wrap himself around Stiles.

When he manages to get himself dressed, and to his men, Derek is calmed and collected. None of his lieutenants said anything. Even though he could see the look on their faces. The questions. The inquiries. The curiosities. He wasn’t one for gossip. And he certainly wasn’t one for gossip when it concerned his sex life. Not that he would ever discuss that with his men to begin with.

In the days he had been absent because of his rut, not too much had changed. The border reports were the same. The furthering of the naval ships was on schedule. At least, that’s what his men had to report to him. The matter of his family was a different beast altogether. There were some things, delicate things, that stayed within the royal family.

He leaves the meeting with a certain sense of accomplishment. Even after being gone for nearly five days, his men had kept order and stability. Derek took pride in the ones he had left in charge. To lead and to issue orders in his absence. Things were well, and after spending his rut with Stiles…he could not have been happier.

He retires to his personal chambers for a brief respite, and is rested for all of five minutes before the doors come flying open. The alpha had been expecting Erica for some time. The she-wolf was the most informal, and tactless of his betas. And by no means kept any sense of decorum when they were in private. He had grown to expect it.

She hangs off him shamelessly. Derek did not, in any way, blame her, given that he had spent an entire five days away from her. Betas needed their alpha, but during rut it was…unsafe. An alpha in that state was on edge, and at times, aggressive. Especially given that it was his first rut as an alpha, he did not want to place his betas with any unnecessary risk.

“Smells like you and Stiles got up to some fun. Is he….”

“Finish that sentence only if you’re prepared for several broken bones.” Derek cut the she-wolf off while he was ahead. The woman was a vicious gossip. Regardless, he still loved her.

“Fine, spoil my fun. But the _entire_ palace is buzzing. Prince Hale, spending five days of rut with his beloved.”

Derek growled in a manner unbecoming of man of his station. He had always hated the way rumors flew around the palace. Even as a young man, people whispered and talked amongst themselves. Careful to hide their voices, or turn their heads whenever he was near. That didn’t stop him from being irritated. Now, it was even more infuriating. Given that Stiles was involved.

He chooses to not let the hens grate on his nerves, and instead asks about the comings and goings that he had missed while sequestered away with Stiles. To no one’s surprise, Erica and Boyd had advanced with their relationship. Things were formal, and well on their way to something more serious. She was even considering asking the man be her partner during heat.

Like male werewolves, females had their mating process as well. It was just as stressful and difficult. The stories were, of course, exaggerated by romantic whims and steamy novels. Much like a man in rut, a female would crave affection, intimacy, and sex. But they wouldn’t be unhinged and maddened for it. Erica was a strong, well thought woman. If she wanted to take Boyd as her partner, then he supported that decision in its entirety.

The other piece of news that did surprise him, was Isaac. Rather, Isaac and Cora. They had been spending quite a lot of time together. In private. Long walks, and sequestered lunches. Away from prying eyes. Not that anyone would dare to spy on Cora. She may have been the youngest, but she was, by far, the fiercest of them. And anyone caught with wandering eyes would not have them for much longer.

Derek did not have any issues with his beta pursuing his sister. At least, not on principal. She was more than capable of making her own choices. As was Isaac. But the reality of it was as plain as day. She was a prince, and he was…Isaac would have a rather hard time convincing the queen to make anything official.

Derek had been lucky. In the regard that Stiles had magic, and that magic was tremendously powerful. As Deaton’s successor, he was elevated in station. He can stand as Derek’s consort. As well as his equal. Emissaries had a tremendous amount of power and authority. Given the power and nature of Stiles’ magic, that was even more prevalent.

He decides to leave well enough alone, and let his sister and his beta do as they pleased. If the time came when they wanted to make things official, Derek would do everything in his power to sway his mother’s opinion on the matter. There were, of course, others that needed attending to.

He leaves Erica, and her pouting. Setting off to resume his duties as a prince of their country. It was tireless work, and unlike some of the other members of the nobility and royalty, he took his job seriously. There were more than a few people he’d like to strangle because of their complacency.

Derek finds Peter in one of the western drawing rooms. It was one of the man’s favorite places to keep himself. To review documents and letters and all manner of other things. He often took meetings there, and for whatever reason, no one had ever brought up the matter. Derek did not care why, as long as his uncle behaved himself.

That, as it turned out, was not going to be the case. As the man’s face stretched into a maniacal grin as soon as the alpha entered. Derek groaned internally as he took a seat. His uncle poured him a cup of tea, still smiling that horrid smile of his. The alpha took a sip as he braced himself for the conversation to come.

“You look…satisfied.” The man held the cup of tea in his hand, waiting for Derek to respond.

“Uncle, I’d rather not. It’s uncouth to talk about one’s rut.”

“Oh, dear nephew. You knew this would be coming. After that vile hag, I thought you’d never take anything close to a lover. But you have, and from the way you smell, you did so repeatedly.”

Derek rolled his eyes as his uncle took a sip of his tea. The man was as shameless as they came. As far as the royal family went, he was the most wonton of them. Peter had taken countless lovers over the years. And had not offered one ounce of apology for his indecency. Derek never understood how man so brilliant and cunning could also be so without manner.

“Tell me nephew, is he as nice to look at naked. I will admit, I spared a thought towards it, once or twice. What that ass of his looked like with nothing covering it.”

It was a bait. A single little hook to get Derek angry and lash out. He wasn’t going to take it. In fact, he had the perfect response.

“His ass was lovely. His cock was better.” Derek sipped his tea, never breaking eye contact with his uncle.

“I imagine nothing would compare to an alpha’s whilst in rut. Poor boy must’ve felt…small.”

“Hardly, given that it was like a horse.”

He got the exact response he wanted. Peter spat out a mouthful of tea, and came up choking and sputtering. Face flushed red with the difficulty he had in breathing. Derek chuckled heartily. Taking great pleasure at his uncle’s expense. It was truly something to be enjoyed.

“I…that’s was a dirty play. And congratulations. It smells like you rather got the best of it. Has plenty of stamina, does he?”

Derek set his cup down and cocked an eyebrow. His uncle truly was a mannerless bastard. And he wanted to keep the details of his and Stiles’ time together private. As what they did behind closed doors during his rut was no one else’s business.

“Uncle, surely there are better things to discuss than my consorts cock.”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Enter.” Peter’s face fell as he issued the command.

In a matter of seconds, he had gone from playful and coy, to lethal and serious. Derek did not like the shift in his mood. Nor who entered at his summons. Ethan and Aiden were the same as Derek had remembered. The last time he had seen them was nearly five years ago. The three of them had been twenty. And the two of them had just taken the helm as their pack’s successive alphas.

He felt the shift come over him before he even realized it. His fingers burned as his claws manifested. The alpha was just poised and ready to strike when his uncle stepped between them. Eyes serious and tense. Derek’s wolf took it as a challenge. He damn near ripped his uncle’s intestines out. The only reason he didn’t, was that small, quiet part of him that was still human. Only just.

“Patience now, nephew. They are here to help. Which would be aided considerably if you did not behead them.”

“Nothing less than they deserve, traitorous bastards. How did they even get into the capital?” Derek’s voice was muffled around his fangs.

“I invited them, given what they’ve provided. Which, as it turns out nephew, is proof. Proof of Ennis’ and Kali’s collusion with Deucalion, as well as the means to end them. Interested now?”

Derek felt his wolf howl in protest. These were the two that had, however small, allied with Deucalion. They had helped him, somehow, someway, start an uprising. One that ended with hundreds of good men dead, and Derek forced into a position that he never should have had to begin with. The temptation to simply murder them was overwhelming. But, so was the knowledge of how to bring the other two to justice.

“Speak, and if I don’t like what you have to say, it’s to the gallows with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun. Next chapter, war. Or rather, the start of one. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last chapter. This was a ride, and I'm glad so many people have enjoyed it. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

It had been three days since Derek’s rut had ended, and Stiles felt…He didn’t know how he felt really. A lot had happened over the last several months. His magic had been discovered. He had been named Deaton’s successor and apprentice. The king had granted him the title of Earl. As well as a substantial amount of land to go with it. But most of all, the thing that turned his head in the most wicked of directions, was that he had become Derek’s official consort.

Sharing his rut aside, Stiles was…if there was a word, it was content. The general madness of his stay in the capital had subsided, and he had found himself…happy. More so than he had been in a number of years. Derek, as well as the pack, played a large part in it.

Though, he didn’t exactly have time to linger on these newly discovered thoughts. As soon as he and Derek emerged from the alpha’s chambers, it was back to business as usual. Namely, and most importantly, Deaton hauled him back to his studies. Making sure that Stiles kept track with his training. Both in his magic, and as his duties as future emissary.

Though, today, he felt something slightly different in the man. He was…nervous. Something in him was afraid, or, at the very least, on edge. Stiles’ magic tingled as he entered Deaton’s private chambers. There was a palpable tension in the air. One that he felt was…unsettling.

“Stiles, thank you for coming on time. Please, sit.”

He does as he is instructed. Placing himself down at a large oak table. There were no instruments to be found. No tonics, or potions, or elixers. Normally, when he arrived for his training with Deaton, the man had already set up the materials for the day’s lessons. That was not the case today. Which made the feeling that was creeping across his skin all the more alarming.

“Today, we will be trying something a little different than your usual training. More accurately, in your magic.”

“Sounds good.” Stiles had grown tired of the repetitive lesson structure. It, more days than not, dulled him to no conceivable end.

The man goes towards a shelf, taking down a rather large, tattered tome. Stiles could tell that it had seen in number of years. Possibly hundred. From the way Deaton carried it so carefully. It was precious. It was valuable. Something that was to be treasured.

“As I have explained before, your magic is unique. In that you do not need any external forces or rituals to use it.”

“You said I was a Spark.” Stiles remembered. He didn’t quite care for the term.

“Correct. Your kind was thought to have died out centuries ago. But this…This is the only known record of their magic that exists.” Deaton’s eyes went to a place where Stiles could not follow.

It was a sobering thought. Knowing that he now had access to the knowledge that people like him had accumulated. In fact, it was kind of staggering if he kept on thinking about it. Deaton places it down in front of him. Gently opening its pages with the tenderness of care. Like it was a child.

“There are enchantments and incantations in here that make no sense to me. But, with your power, they might actually work.”

Stiles eyed the lines on the page. Taking in bits and pieces of information all at once. There was one line. One part that caught his eye. He didn’t know why. It was a spell of some sort. An incantation that would conjure…something about the stars. He didn’t know what it meant. But if it got him closer to being able to control his magic, he was willing to try. When he taps into his magic, and starts to recite it, the entirety of his body sings.

_Ride upon the chariot of starlight, and bring to me, the dawn of all things._

_Fire born and chaos made, I call to thee._

_Become my blade and my fury._

There was a sensation of power that crawled across his fingertips. Much like the time that Deaton had tried to teach Stiles combat magic. Only, this time, it was…different. Warmer. Less commandeering. Open. Bright. When he opens his eyes, what lies before him takes his breath away.

Blades. Endless, countless, innumerable blades. The air seemed to ripple with them. Heat coming off in a small, but powerful torrent. His skin prickled with it. It sang with it. He knew…He knew that this was magic like he had never done before. He had mended things. Made fire. Compelled water. But this…this was something entirely different.

“Needless to say, Stiles. I do believe this is the best way forward for your magic.”

“I think you might be right about that, Deaton.” Stiles was still amazed that he had managed the spell on the first try.

He managed to disperse it rather easily. One moment, the blades of light were there. And then, they were gone just as quickly. There was a lingering taste of heat from where they vanished. And Stiles could feel it…he could feel that, the next time, he would be able to cast the spell without the incantation.

They spend the rest of the day practicing spells from the book. Small things. But powerful things. Deaton strictly forbade him from trying anything that was larger or grander. Given that Stiles’ magic was not accustomed to such powerful spells. And that, last time, he had set his arm on fire. And spent quite a lot of time recovering.

He had even managed to render a plant invisible for a short time. Something small, and without any real power. But the implications were…interesting. Being able to make something unseen to the naked eye, both werewolf and human…Stiles could imagine any number of people who would like to get their hands on this power. And most of them were his own countrymen.

He was getting ready to leave, when the door to Deaton’s chambers opened. There stood one Peter Hale, looking, for the first time since Stiles had seen him, disheveled. There were dark circles underneath his eyes. His hair was greasy, and pointing and every conceivable direction. The sight of it took Stiles back. In all their interactions, Peter Hale had always been meticulously put together. So this…it was disturbing.

“So sorry to interrupt. But may I borrow Stiles for a moment. It’s a somewhat urgent matter.”

“Of course, sire.” Deaton bowed his head, and Stiles took it as a note that he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

He rose from where he was sitting. A slight, tingling numbness in his legs. He always felt like this after using his magic to a great extent. He knew that, when he went to bed, he would sleep as soundly as a log. He always did.

Peter does not say anything as they traverse the grand halls of the palace. Which, given everything else, was odd. The man, however small or slight, always had something to say. So for him to be so silent, Stiles felt the nasty feeling he had intensify. There was nothing good waiting for him wherever they were going.

The people that greet them are…the entirety of the royal family. The queen. The king. Both Princess Laura and Cora. As well as some faces that he did not immediately recognize. But from the way they were dressed, he could tell that they were of some manner of station. Given that they were standing in the same room as the royals. And just in the corner, away from the group, was Derek.

The alpha makes his way over. Wrapping his arms around Stiles in a soft, but firm embrace. The message of it was not lost on the young magic user. Given that the man, even in public, had only ever held his hand. He was distressed. And Stiles could not figure out why.

“Hello Stiles. Please, have a seat.” The queen directs him to a chair. And when he sits, Peter, as he always had, poured him a cup of tea. Though, the certain brand of mischievousness that he had was no longer present.

“I suppose, with him here, we can officially begin. As of this moment, the War Council has convened.”

Stiles sputtered and choked on his tea. Coming back up coughing and slapping his chest. He felt Derek clasp a hand around his shoulder.

“Given the circumstances, I don’t disparage you for that reaction. But times are dire, and war is on the horizon. Stiles, as king of this country, I ask a simple, but hefty thing of you. Will you fight for us?”

The young magic user could feel his stomach drop, and his heart thud like a bolt of lightning. He had never once used his magic to harm someone. Never used it fight. But here, now, the king was asking him to do just that. And it terrified him to no end.

“As I will respectfully remind His Majesty, Stiles is not trained in combat magic. And while he is exceedingly strong inherently, that does not equate to control. He is still learning.”

Stiles hadn’t even noticed that Deaton had come in. which was saying something about his level of nerves. The man stood in the doorway, and his eyes said everything that needed to be said, but required no words. He was…furious. It was a quiet, tempered anger. And while he did not admonish the king outright, the intention was obvious.

“Deaton, I assure that I have thought this through. And Stiles could be a great asset to us.”

“You have not thought anything through, Majesty. Stiles is young, untrained, and has no military background or combat experience. You are essentially asking a child to go to war. And I, as your emissary, as well as this family’s emissary, will not give my recommendation towards it.”

It was the first time that Deaton had been angry. At least, it was first time that Stiles had seen him. He had, even while maintaining respect, effectively told the king off. He had told the entire royal family off. The notion of which surprised Stiles, given that, even with the shocking lack of formalities, they were still royals. And they were still werewolves.

The king and queen turned to Stiles. Looking at him as one might look towards a setting sun. Aimless, but full of something that words could not describe. There was something in the back of their eyes. A dark, terrible thing. Stiles recognized it as fear. Fear of what had happened. Fear of what was to happen. And fear of what could, against, all the odds of creations, happen again.

“You told me, when my magic was discovered, you told me. That my magic, that I would not be used to make war, or plays for power. I trust, Your Majesty, that remains true?” Stiles’ question was simple, but loaded all the same.

“Yes, Stiles. It remains true.”

“Then, I trust that I have the right to refuse?” the implication was clear, and he had no intention of hiding it. He wanted to assure himself that, even with anything and everything that was happening, he still remained a free citizen of their country.

“The choice is yours. Whether or not you use your magic and your power for the upcoming battle. That, under no circumstances, will change.”

The queen’s words were soft, but despaired. She would, as she said so many months ago, hold true to her promise. That Stiles would never be made as a tool for war. That he would have that choice, when the time came. And now, the time was here.

He had, even after that unfortunate accident, practiced the magic that Deaton was trying to teach him. Albeit in a much smaller, far safer way. Stiles had no illusions, that even with his natural talent, these spells would come easily to him. Or that he could control the magic once he cast it. Or that he could prevent himself from being injured again.

He had done small things. Simple things. Able to be used in combat, but not in a way that would be able to implemented on a large scale. That’s what the king was asking now. That’s what the queen was asking now. That’s what all of them were asking now. And he had to make the choice. Stiles already knew the answer.

***

Derek had been a ball of nerves the entire day. Today, they would be meeting Kali’s fleet on the battlefield. The woman came from a long line of ship builders. Her father had been a naval officer until the day he died. He had no doubt that the woman was well trained and well educated. But, they had a secret weapon their side.

Stiles had agreed to fight in the upcoming battle. Everyone seemed surprised. Everyone except Derek. At heart, he knew the man was someone who would always help others. He had said it when his magic was discovered. He healed things. He mended things. Stiles had a natural disposition for helping others. Now, he would be doing the same. Even if that meant harming others in the process.

Derek had gone to the royal smithy, and handed the man a satchel of gold. He asked for the finest armor he could produce on short notice. Something that was light, but formidable. Stiles, by no means, could wear the full plate armor that most infantry soldiers wore. Even more so, given that they would be fighting on the water. Falling into the ocean in steel plating meant certain death. Even an alpha could not swim with all of that on.

What he received was…interesting. Leather and silk. Deceptively strong, and able to deflect blade, and bullet when worn correctly. Stiles’ eyes gleamed at the sight of it. Even more so when Derek wore his official coat of arms. He had no taste for pageantry or decadence. He was an alpha. He was a general. That did not mean he needed to walk about preening. His armor was simple for a man of his station, and he liked it that way.

The port that they found themselves in was a simple town. But an important one. It was the last area of trade before the seas to the south. A vital junction both commercially, and in military. Derek had little doubt that Kali would send part of her fleet here to occupy it. Cutting off trade and goods for the southern towns and villages.

As it turned out, he was right. He could spot the dark specks of her lead vessel on the horizon. Come down from the stretch from the western side, where her domain laid. There were at least twenty ships, all armed and staffed with men who knew the waters. Who knew the cannons and the sails and everything else it took to do battle on the expanse of the sea. He ordered his men ready.

The port had a fortress of sorts. Where soldiers were always stationed. Running check after check. Fending off pirates. So on and so forth. They were already prepared for war before Derek arrived. What none of them were prepared for, was Stiles.

Since the man had agreed to use his powers for war, he had been practicing. Endlessly and relentlessly. That, as it turned out, had paid off. In ways that none of them could ever imagine. One minute, Derek was ordering his men to brace for impact. The next, the air was filled with electricity. Bolts of it crackled in the sky. Even though it was midday, the clouds turned from sheer white, to a bleak, unyielding grey.

He looked towards Stiles. His eyes were closed. Hands stretched outwards. Saying something in a language that Derek had no chance of understanding. Whatever it was, it had the power to compel the heavens. The ships advanced further still. Then, they didn’t. The most vicious wind that Derek had ever experienced whipped itself onto the waters. Creating great waves and sharp, fierce sounds howling.

Large, thundering bolts charged down from the sky. No longer content to stay within the clouds. They struck down with precision, and without mercy. Annihilating sails and the men who manned them. Within seconds, half the fleet was on fire. And they hadn’t even made it to shore yet.

Derek was stunned. He hadn’t known what manner of magic Stiles would use. Or how long he would be able to use it. But this…this wasn’t something that he had expected. No one had expected this. The shock of it was enough to make him pause. If only to look and hold wonder at Stiles. Then, he ordered his men to let loose the cannons.

What ships weren’t on fire, were then bombarded by artillery fire. Even through the thick, unyielding smoke of the fires, Derek wasn’t worried. They ships were close enough together that it didn’t matter. Even the smallest hits would be damning. He hoped against hope that Kali was on one of the ships that had been struck by lightning.

The battle was short, and lasted barely three hours. With half the ships set ablaze from the outright, they didn’t stand a chance. When it was all said and done, when their victory was assured, Derek knew that Kali would never recover from it. A quarter of her ships were partially or completely sunk. The other half had been damaged by Stiles’ magic, or by cannon fire. They had won.

When he kisses Stiles, it is small and sweet and gentle. He tastes that sweet, green thing that makes his wolf purr. Derek can feel the man go lax in his arms, and it is the best feeling in the world. That one of absolute trust and assurance. The other man wraps his arms around Derek, holding himself in place. When they part, he can say only one thing.

“Marry me.”

Stiles looked like a man who had been stunned. Derek understood. They had just gotten done with battle. They had just fighting a fight that they had no idea how it would go. The last thing that anyone expected, was a proposal. But the shock lasts only for a moment, and Stiles kisses him like he was the most treasured thing in creation. Derek took that as a yes. He could deal with the ensuing fallout from the country later. For right now, he was content and happy. Even more so, given that he would be sharing a bed with his fiancée later tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was...everything I wanted it to be. A confrontation. A battle. And two, in-love idiots. I know plenty of people would have liked to see the wedding. Or maybe some more smut. But I feel as if I finished it in a way that is satisfactory. Thanks for reading, and as always, much love.
> 
> PS- I know that I said I was retiring from the Sterek fandom, but I have one or two WIP's in my folder to finish. Which I intend on doing, but I'm not doing anything new. So, no telling when I'll finish them. But there is some small fics to look forward to in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't expect this fic to be SUPER long, as I am on my to retirement from the Sterek fandom, and Teen Wolf in general. I've been on board since day one, but with the show ended, and eleven other fics under by belt, I think I've done enough. We'll see where the future takes us. Anyways, thanks for taking the time to read it. And I hope you'll stay with me until the end of my time here. As always, much love.


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